


This Kiss

by poetzproblem



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Friendship, Humor, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 07:09:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 141,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetzproblem/pseuds/poetzproblem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One pivotal moment can change everything.  From a Faberry prompt: <i>Rachel and Quinn share a kiss during a game of spin the bottle. From that night forward both girls desperately try to deny what they felt, what they feel. The other Glee kids know what's up and attempt to play matchmaker.</i></p><p>Originally posted January through April 2011 to FFN & LJ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rivers In Egypt

**Author's Note:**

> Now with 90% less epithets. 
> 
> I've done some editing to clean this up, and I'm finally archiving it here.

 

 

 

**This Kiss**

  
_It's that pivotal moment, it's impossible.  
_ _~This Kiss, Faith Hill_

_•••_

**Rivers In Egypt**

Quinn watched in horror as the menacing green bottle that had been merrily spinning in circles just seconds ago, slowed to a drunken wobble before coming to a dead stop with its damning neck pointed directly at her. It was kind of like looking down the barrel of a loaded gun.

She was only vaguely aware of the sudden roar of laughter, underscoring a few shouted ' _woos,'_  but she definitely heard the ' _so fucking hot'_ from Puck, of course _,_ and a  _'hell yeah_ ' that sounded suspiciously like Santana. What came out of Quinn's mouth, instead of the  _'fuck no'_  that ran through her head—because really, a good Christian girl did not say  _that_ word, even if she had partaken in the unfortunately named (one time only) act that led to her spectacular fall from grace—was "no way." More specifically, "No way in Dante's nine levels of hell am I kissing Berry!"

She'd known this party was a bad idea. Anything involving Puck and alcohol had the word  _danger_  flashing in bright red neon with big ass arrows pointing straight at his stupid, mohawked head. But everyone from glee had been going, along with a surprising number of cheerios and jocks, and Sam had wanted to go so he could try to get on Puck's good side—even though Quinn was still undetermined as to whether or not Puck even  _had_  a good side, let alone why Sam would care so much to be on it. But really, who was she to say no? She figured that she'd be safe enough this time, with Sam on her arm to keep her from doing anything foolish, or potentially life altering.

For and hour or so, she'd been having a perfectly good time, avoiding the alcohol that was flowing freely while enjoying the spectacle her friends made in their various degrees of drunkenness. Then Puck had suggested a glee only game of spin-the-bottle, and Quinn had known from the devious gleam in his eyes, and the smirk on his face, that he was looking to cause trouble. After all, most of the glee club was coupled up, and alcohol plus jealousy equaled potential disaster. Especially when the most annoying and disastrous couple was only just barely back together again after a bitter, jealousy fueled break up.

Puck had cranked up the music, set the other jocks and cheerios off in a game of beer pong, and then proceeded to corral all the gleeks up, and gather them into a circle in his living room. Doing his duty as host, Puck had slapped down an empty bottle of Rolling Rock and given it a spin. He'd laid an obnoxious kiss on Brittany, stopping only when Artie loudly cleared his throat. Brittany had offered the boy a quick peck to placate him before she'd managed to expertly spin Santana, to the obvious delight of all the guys, and the embarrassment of Finn, who'd looked to be having one of his 'mailman' moments. Santana had kissed Mike, maybe a little too enthusiastically for Tina's taste, although Artie had seemed to enjoy the little fight that had followed. The brief tension between the Asian couple had passed pretty quickly after Mike had spun Rachel and been forced to lay an awkward, blink and you missed it, closed-mouth kiss on the diva. In a show of sympathy for the boy, no one had made any comments about it not being a real kiss. And now here they were, with Rachel's spin landing on Quinn, who was not amused at all, and Rachel looking wide-eyed and fearful that Quinn might magically produce a slushie to hurl at her.

"Spin again, Treasure Trail." The insult slipped out without her even thinking about it, and she felt Sam stiffen at her side.

"Way harsh, Quinn," he muttered under his breath. She shot him a glare, but he only shook his head in disappointment, and she was reminded again that her boyfriend was deep into some sort of bromance with Finn, and therefore had decided that he should actually try to  _befriend_  Rachel Berry. He just didn't get how  _wrong_  that was.

"You don't get a veto, Q. The hobbit spun you, and now ya gots ta kiss her. Them's the rules."

"Shut up, Santana," Quinn hissed, "and God, stop with the gansta speak, already. Your father is a doctor, and you grew up in the suburbs along with the rest of us."

The Latina's eyes narrowed, and she lunged forward only to be grabbed around the waist by Brittany. "You wanna go, Tubbers?"

"Whoa, ladies. Not that a good girl fight wouldn't be smoking hot, but I'm all about the girl-on-girl lip action right about now. And Santana's got a point. Rules are rules, babe. You and Berry gotta kiss."

Quinn wanted to smack that cocky smirk right off Puck's face, and then bitch slap Santana just for the hell of it.

"They don't have to if they don't want to." Everyone turned to look at Finn, who sat red faced with his arm possessively slung over Rachel's shoulder. "I…I mean, they're totally both girls. It like, doesn't count if they're both girls, right?"

Kurt, freshly transferred back from Dalton Academy, rolled his eyes at his stepbrother. "It counted for Brittany and Santana."

"Well, yeah, but…"

"But  _what_ , Finnocence?" Finn glanced sheepishly at the still fuming Santana, and wisely decided not to finish his thought. Rachel seemed to finally shake off her uncharacteristic stillness, and patted Finn's hand reassuringly.

"It's alright, Finn. I am fully willing to honor the rules of the game, but I understand why Quinn may feel uncomfortable engaging in an activity which, while totally meaningless in the grand scheme of things, is decidedly outside her system of beliefs and values. In fact, her acceptance of diversity thus far has been surprisingly open when you consider…"

"Oh my God, Quinn," Santana interrupted, "just kiss her so she'll shut the hell up!"

"Fine! Whatever." Quinn just wanted this whole thing to be over now. Really, how bad could it be? One quick peck on the lips and they could all just move on. "Let's just get this over with."

"Alright! And do it right, babes. I wanna see some tongue." 

"You're a pig" and "Shut it, Puckerman" were snarled simultaneously, but it was Mercedes who had the pleasure of smacking the back of his head. Puck rubbed absently at the spot, and held up his free hand in mock surrender.

"Damn, alright, no tongue. Just make sure it's a real kiss, none of that bullshit girly crap Chang pulled."

"Hey, I'm not girly. I was being respectful."

"Yeah, Mike is a gentleman." Tina rubbed her pouting boyfriend's shoulder. "You're totally manly, baby."

"Totally whipped. Ow, damn girl, stop smacking me."

"Stop being a jerk, and I'll consider it," Mercedes drawled.

Quinn rolled her eyes, rose from her comfy position on the couch, and adopted her familiar head-bitch-in-charge pose. "Just come over here, Berry, before I change my mind."

Rachel was perched on the edge of the chair she was sharing with Finn, and she threw him a questioning glance before responding to Quinn's command. "It's okay, Rach," he quietly reassured his girlfriend. "I'm not gonna be mad. It's a just party game, right?"

"Of course," she reassured him with a genuine smile. Quinn rolled her eyes as she watched the sickly sweet exchange. Rachel squared her shoulders and stood, nervously smoothing her hands over her too-short skirt before stepping to the center of the circle in front of Quinn. "I believe that five seconds would be adequate to qualify as a, quote unquote, real kiss."

"Did you seriously just say  _quote unquote_?"

"It's a perfectly acceptable idiom."

"Do you even come from this century?" Quinn wanted to know. "Or did you fall out of some bad fifties sitcom?"

Rachel crossed her arms, straightened her back, and glared up at Quinn. "I will have you know that the nineteen-fifties produced a plethora of wholesome, thoughtful entertainment in both television and film that is sadly lacking amidst the glut of bad reality programs and melodramatic drivel rampant in today's profit driven industry. Furthermore…"

"You're such a freak," Quinn barked, cutting Rachel's tirade short.

"Hey! Bitch and Stitch, just kiss already so we can move the fuck on!"

Quinn figured that flipping Santana the bird probably didn't help with the good Christian girl image, but it sure as hell felt good. She turned her attention back to Rachel, and noticed the faint blush that painted her cheeks. Quinn sighed and stared down into an intense pair of deep, dark eyes. She felt the strangest little shiver run through her—definitely not anticipation—probably disgust. Yeah, disgust. Maybe if she could just temporarily turn off the part of her brain that was constantly manufacturing Berry-appropriate insults, she might be able to get through one kiss without gagging.

Studying Rachel, she tried to pick out something good to focus on. Well, she supposed her outfit was moderately fashionable for a change. Plain black mini skirt, no questionable plaid or argyle patterns, a lack of knee socks, and hey, even a solid green scoop neck blouse with no puppies or kittens or ponies. At least Quinn wouldn't have to feel like she was molesting a five year old. And okay, Rachel was having a pretty good hair day, even if Quinn wasn't really a fan of the bangs. Her gaze unconsciously fell to Rachel's lips, which really did look kind of soft. Like,  _really_  soft, and sort of kissable. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

She leaned forward. Rachel rocked up, and…

_Oh._

_Oh! As soft as they look…_

 

 

 

•••

Rachel had kissed exactly three boys in her short sixteen years. Finn had been her first, although that kiss had been the very definition of stolen. After all, he'd been dating Quinn at the time, but Rachel had never really had any problem ignoring her fickle moral code if it meant procuring something that she really wanted or felt that she deserved. That kiss, however imperfect it may have been, had been everything she'd ever dreamed that a first kiss should be—well, at least until Finn had run out on her.

Kissing Noah had been nice enough, but there had been absolutely no emotional connection, and Rachel had realized pretty quickly that she needed more than just a hookup. He hadn't been the boy she'd wanted, and she certainly hadn't been the girl that he'd wanted. Luckily, they'd both realized that pretty quickly and spared a bucket full of potential drama, seeing that Noah had turned out to be the real father of Quinn's child. And as for their very brief, completely insignificant regression just before Sectionals—well, that was never to be mentioned again.

Jesse—Jesse had been just like her. Talented, driven, and completely unapologetic. He'd been her perfect leading man, and they could talk for hours about music or their future stardom, but even though she might have been a little bit in love with him, kissing him hadn't resulted in fireworks or violins playing in her head.

She'd only glimpsed that elusive magic with Finn—that rush of happiness that had come from finally claiming the boy that she'd wanted all along. She would have sworn to anyone who would listen—which turned out to be no one really—that kissing Finn was almost as amazing as being on stage in front of a cheering audience, even if it wasn't  _exactly_  the perfect movie script romance that she'd once imagined. After all, he  _had_  thrown his virtue away on the school bicycle, and then proceeded to lie to her about it for  _months,_ crushing Rachel's self-esteem, and exacerbating her distress by failing to acknowledge his own culpability, thereby sending her into Noah's arms in an ill-fated act of angry desperation that—again—was best forgotten. She and Finn had only just reunited, but they were stronger for having worked through their difficulties, and she had come to realize that having someone who'd seen her at her best and worst, who  _knew_  her and still loved her, flaws and all, was the real magic.

Or so she'd thought, until the moment that she'd kissed Quinn Fabray.

Rachel had fully intended the barest of contact—a closed mouth kiss, during which she would count slowly to five, and then, probably after some insult to her femininity from Quinn, Santana, or more likely both, she could return to Finn's side and forget the whole thing.

What she had forgotten instead was how to count and breath and possibly her own name. That first brush of soft lips hadn't immediately registered as anything other than mildly pleasant, but then Quinn had tilted her head just so, and her lower lip had fallen between Rachel's, and a little zing of electricity had short-circuited her brain. All she knew was  _soft_  and  _sweet_  and  _magical…_

Rachel's eyes fluttered closed, and every cliché that she'd ever heard seemed to happen to her all at once. Her knees went weak, butterflies were turning pirouettes in her stomach, her skin was tingling, blood singing, fireworks were exploding behind her eyelids, and—screw the violins—there was a symphony playing a romantic overture loud enough to drown out the catcalls and whistles of their friends. As they fell deeper into the kiss, Rachel's arms somehow slipped around Quinn's waist, and Quinn's fingers sank into thick, dark hair, and neither of them seemed aware that they'd inadvertently honored Puck's request for tongue. At least until Rachel heard and felt a moan that she was fairly certain was not her own, and she crashed into full awareness.

She jerked herself back and away from Quinn as though she'd been burned, and stood breathless and panting as her fuzzy senses slowly began to come back into focus. She stared at Quinn, half-expecting to see anger and disgust blazing across her face, but to her surprise, Quinn looked just as dazed as Rachel felt. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes heavy-lidded, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath, and her arms half-raised in the air, seemingly still in search of the girl who'd just been in them.

With the exception of the music blaring from the speakers, the entire circle of friends around them fell completely silent—for about fifteen seconds before Brittany said, "that was so hot," and then everyone was talking at once…

Puck let out a loud whoop, yelling. "Fuckin' awesome!"

Kurt muttered, "I didn't need to see that. Ever."

"Da-amn, girl," from Mercedes.

Tina whispered, "Oh. My. God, " and Mike echoed with a quiet "yeah."

A "wow" from Artie.

"Way to get your freak on, Q," from Santana. "Or maybe I should say…get it on wit' yo' freak."

That comment seemed to snap Quinn out of whatever stupor she'd been in, and she turned to Santana with a scowl. "Shut the hell up or you'll be running suicides until graduation," she glanced back to Rachel in time to see a flushed and frowning Finn move behind his girlfriend, and drop a possessive hand on her shoulder. Quinn's glare turned to ice, and she swiped the back of her hand across her mouth in disgust. Her eyes narrowed, and she pointed a threatening finger at Rachel. "And don't you ever put your man hands on me again, RuPaul."

Rachel felt her face flame. She'd been expecting the insult, and it was nothing that she hadn't heard before—many,  _many_ times. So why did it make her feel slightly nauseous this time? Finn's grip on her tightened and he growled, "Hey, leave Rachel alone. It's just a stupid game."

"Yeah, girlfriend," Mercedes spoke up in an attempt to smooth over the sudden tension. "It's supposed to be fun, right?"

Quinn rolled her eyes, and crossed her arms. "Whatever. This party sucks. Come on, Sam, you're taking me home." She turned on her heel and strutted toward the door, not even bothering to wait for Sam, who had been silently watching the entire exchange from the couch. He shook his head a little and offered a thin smile to the group as he got up.

"Uh…I guess we're leaving."

"Aw, c'mon man. Things were just getting good," Puck whined at the blonde couple. "And you're totally ruining the game, Quinn. It's your turn!" Quinn made a show of flipping him off, and then grabbed Sam's hand and pulled him out the door, making sure that it slammed shut behind them. Puck shrugged, "So who's up for Truth or Dare?"

"Jerk," Mercedes said with another light slap to his head.

"Again? Keep it up and I'll think you like it rough, hot mama."

"Keep it up, and I'll take your head off, you perv. Both of them." Puck grimaced, and slid away while everyone else laughed. Everyone, except Rachel. She forced a tight smile, but she couldn't quite bring herself to join in the humor. Her mind was too occupied with replaying the kiss, and trying to make sense of the way that she'd responded. She felt Finn shift beside her, then a gentle hand stroke along her cheek, arresting her attention.

"Hey, you okay, Rach?"

_No._

"Yes, Finn. I'm having a wonderful time." She flashed him one of her practiced megawatt smiles, but she could tell by the furrow that remained between his eyebrows that he wasn't buying her act. Her smile dimmed, but didn't completely fade as she turned into his arms, her hands coming to rest on his broad shoulders. "Really, I'm fine," she assured him softly. "Just a little…flustered."

He nodded, "Yeah, I guess I get that. I mean, kissing Quinn had to be totally weird for you. 'Cause you're, like, both girls and, you know, kinda hate each other."

Rachel pursed her lips, pushing out an unenthusiastic hum of acknowledgment.  _Weird_  was not exactly the word that she would use. The problem was, the words she did want to use brought up questions that she simply wasn't ready to answer. "I'd rather just forget the whole experience."

Finn grinned down at her. "I think I can help with that." He leaned down, and Rachel tipped her head back to accept his kiss. She tried not to think about how uncomfortable their extreme height difference suddenly seemed, tried not to notice the absence of softness or butterflies, tried not to compare it to— _no_ , she was not going there. Finn was her boyfriend. She loved kissing him. She loved  _him_. Whatever bizarre reaction she'd had to Quinn was undoubtedly a result of nerves, and that questionable punch that Noah had handed her, of which she'd mistakenly taken a few sips. It was an anomaly. A fluke. Irrelevant.

With that decided, she gave herself over to Finn's kiss completely, and ignored the little voice in her head whispering about rivers in Egypt.


	2. The First Sign Of Crazy

**The First Sign of Crazy**

"So, that was fun tonight, huh?"

Quinn looked pointedly at Sam, her eyebrow raised. "Are you a moron? Were we even at the same party?"

"Uh, yeah?"

Quinn just rolled her eyes and turned back to stare out the passenger window into the starless night, mentally ticking off the streetlights they passed on the drive back to her house.

"C'mon, Quinn," the boy coaxed, "I know you don't like Rachel and all, but it really wasn't  _that_  big a deal. We could've stuck around a little longer."

Her hands balled into fists on her lap. "Easy for you to say" she grumbled between gritted teeth. "You're not the one who had to suffer the humiliation of kissing Stubbles."

"I don't get why you have such a problem with her. Yeah, she's a little intense and kind of selfish, but…"

Quinn's head whipped to her left to spear him with a hard glare. "I swear to God if you start singing her praises the only thing you'll be getting intimate with from now on is your hand."

"Wow," Sam muttered with a shake of his head as he eased his car to a stop in the driveway of Quinn's two story Victorian. "I've gotta say, the head bitch attitude really isn't doing anything for me right now."

 _Seriously?_ Quinn did  _not_  need this right now. "Too bad for you. It's doing wonders for me." With a vicious yank to the handle, she pushed the door open, gracefully unfolded her body from the car, and, after slamming the door shut with a little extra force, she marched up her walkway and into her house without a glance back to her so-called boyfriend.

Once inside, Quinn tossed her keys on the hallway table and sagged against the door, dragging the fingers of her left hand through her hair. The house was dark with no sign of her mother having waited up for her return, and that was probably a good thing. They'd managed to begin tentative repairs to their damaged relationship, but it was still touch and go. Judy Fabray was never going to win mother of the year, but at least she'd stopped—well, cut back on—the drinking. She was trying, and so was Quinn.

Heaving a sigh, she quietly made her way up the stairs and into her bedroom, shedding her cardigan along the way. Moving on autopilot, she stripped out of her dress and threw on a comfortable t-shirt and sleep shorts, then made her way to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. Nightly rituals completed, she padded back to her room and threw herself across the bed. Her eyes drifted closed and she took a deep breath, willing her body to relax and her mind to shut down. It worked for all of thirty seconds before the memory of Rachel's kiss invaded her senses.

Quinn still wasn't entirely sure what had happened. She'd gone from being a reluctant participant to practically devouring the other girl in the blink of an eye. She remembered thinking Rachel's lips were soft, then catching a faint taste of raspberry mixed with some other unidentifiable flavor, and the combination had been intoxicating. A not-at-all unpleasant heat had shot down into her belly and exploded into places decidedly further south. And for the first time in her young life, she'd  _wanted_.

She'd kissed boys before. Not dozens or anything—she wasn't a slut like Santana and Brittany—but there'd been a few. Her first kiss had been with David Pyle at the beginning of freshman year; the late start thanks in part to an overly strict father and firm Catholic upbringing. It was hardly more than an awkward press of stiff lips that felt so weird that she'd had to stifle a giggle. She'd given him the benefit of the doubt and they'd valiantly tried it a few more times with the same sad results. Needless to say, he hadn't impressed her and had soon been kicked to the curb, the subject of jokes about lizard lips. Quinn really had been a major bitch, even then. She didn't even think poor David still attended McKinley. He might have transferred to the Dalton Academy, or something.

Finn was the first boy she'd ever gotten serious with, and kissing him had been nice, if a little sloppy, but he'd never managed to do anything in their make out sessions that made her want to rethink her above the waist and over the bra rules. That was probably a good thing, seeing that his  _little problem_ would have undoubtedly left her completely unsatisfied.

Puck had just been a mistake. Coach Sylvester had been on her case about her weight, and Finn had been making noises about joining glee club, and Rachel freaking Berry had been making doe eyes at her boyfriend. Quinn had been pissed off and feeling bad and Puck had been there, telling her everything she'd needed to hear, like a devil on her shoulder that she just didn't have the will to fight. So she'd let him take her home and hand her a few wine coolers and convince her that giving up her virginity to him wasn't the worst idea in the history of womankind. The saddest part—besides the nine months of feeling like a whale and being pushed to the bottom of the food chain, and the pain of giving birth to and then giving up her baby—was that the sex hadn't even been particularly good.

And now there was Sam. He was cute, and sweet, and kind of a dork in a sometimes adorable way. Maybe she wasn't exactly in love with him, and maybe she hadn't started dating him for the right reasons, but he made her smile and she really needed that after last year. Yeah, he was even more image obsessed than she was, which was totally saying something (to the effect of  _shallow, much?_ ) and no, kissing him didn't exactly set her world on fire, but she was kind of relieved about that part. She'd been perfectly serious about recommitting to her vow of celibacy, and she didn't need some boy tempting her into having sex when she knew first hand what the consequences could be.

But one kiss from Rachel Berry had redefined  _temptation_ , and Quinn hadn't even been self aware enough to realize what was happening to her. She'd been so lost in Rachel and her own unexpected response that she might have dragged her down to the carpet right there in Puck's living room had Rachel not suddenly had the good sense to pull away. And apparently Quinn had no sense at all, because she'd seriously been about two seconds away from just grabbing Rachel and kissing her again until Santana had made that comment about getting her freak on, and Quinn had realized  _exactly_  what she'd been doing—and how much she'd been enjoying it.

 _Damn it!_ Quinn slammed her palms against the mattress and squeezed her eyes shut tight.  _Stop thinking about Rachel. She's nothing! A loud mouthed, egocentric, boyfriend stealing little freak. You don't even like her, and you sure as hell don't want to kiss her again. You don't._

"I don't," she whispered into the darkness. It was just a…a weird glitch, or something. She'd just gotten caught up in the moment. She'd been agitated and annoyed and…and riled up. Yes, that was it! She'd probably confused anger for passion. That could happen, right? Especially to hormonal, emotional teenagers. It didn't actually mean anything.

Sighing, Quinn turned over onto her side and curled her knees up against her chest, resolved to forget about the whole fiasco. Tomorrow she'd call Sam and graciously accept his apology for being an oblivious, Rachel Berry defending jerk, and then everything would go back to normal.

 

 

•••

The sea of students parted in waves as Quinn Fabray stalked down the hall Monday morning. The set of her shoulders and scowl on her face was a shining beacon warning everyone to keep out of her path. One poor, acne faced freshman, nose glued to his iPhone, missed the signals and made the mistake of loitering too close to her locker. A sharp elbow connected with his shoulder and his precious phone went clattering to the floor. "Watch it, crater face," Quinn growled. The boy stared dejectedly down at his phone, and for a minute he looked like he might actually say something, but then he saw the murderous look on the head cheerleader's face and scampered away without a word. Shaking her head, Quinn tore her locker open and began grabbing her books, grumbling under her breath about stupid freshmen and self righteous boyfriends.

"Talking to yourself is the first sign of crazy, you know." Quinn slammed the metal door shut and glared at Santana, who was casually leaning against the row of lockers with her arms crossed. "Of course," Santana continued, "you kinda already dove head first into the crazy at Puck's party."

Quinn jabbed a finger into Santana's shoulder. "Don't even go there. I don't want to hear  _one_ word about Berry or that disgusting,  _meaningless_ , kiss. Especially from  _you._ Don't think I don't know exactly what you and Britt get up to behind closed doors. Half the time you don't even  _close_  the door."

Santana grabbed Quinn's wrist and wrenched it away. "First, don't fucking poke me unless you want a throw down, because I will kick your fat ass and Schuester won't be around to save you this time. Second, I wasn't talking about you slobbering all over the troll doll. I was talking about the over the top diva storm out—which, by the way, you totally suck at—but since you're obviously full-on committed to the cray-cray, maybe we  _should_  explore your Berry-licious lip trip to Lesbos."

Quinn's face paled, then flushed red with rage and she got right up into Santana's personal space, voice dropping dangerously low. "Shut. The hell. Up. I'm not… _like that_."

Santana didn't even flinch. "Puh-lease, denial much? You are  _so_  a pressed lemon."

Quinn recoiled with a confused scowl. "What the  _hell_  is a pressed lemon?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"A lemon that is pressed," Brittany chimed in, appearing from behind Quinn and sliding over to Santana with a sweet smile. She held up a curled pinky, and Santana grinned back and hooked her own pinky with Brittany's in a gesture that Quinn had watched them perform a hundred times. She felt a weird pang in her stomach—it kind of felt like jealousy.

Santana turned uncharacteristically quiet. "Look Q. We may have our issues, but I  _know_  you. I know when you're about to go off the rails and I'd rather not have to suffer through the carnage of another train wreck. Just…keep your shit together, okay?"

Quinn crossed her arms. "Not that I don't appreciate your false concern, S…oh wait, I totally don't."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Don't say I didn't warn you. C'mon, B." She started to walk away, pulling Brittany along beside her, who glanced back in bewilderment.

"But she's still all pressed."

Quinn wasn't exactly sure what Santana and Brittany had been implying, but she had a vague—alright, fairly unmistakable—idea, and it only added to her agitation. Her weekend had been bad enough. Sam hadn't bothered to answer his phone or respond to her texts until Saturday evening, and then he'd had the balls to expect  _her_  to apologize to  _him_  for being a bitch. She'd called him an unsupportive dick, and hung up on him. She was so not looking forward to the inevitable face to face confrontation. Especially now, when she knew that she  _needed_  him. Santana's accusation had hit a nerve, one that had been way too close to the surface since Friday night.

Despite Quinn's conviction to forget the incident with Rachel, her subconscious had dredged it up in her dreams for the past three nights—explicit dreams of dark eyes and dark hair, soft lips and toned legs, and kisses that sent chills running down her spine and heat pooling between her legs. She'd woken up aching every damn time. She felt dirty and wrong, because it was Rachel, and  _Rachel_ , despite Quinn's many and varied insults indicating otherwise, was very much a girl. A straight girl with a boyfriend. Just like Quinn was a straight girl with a (currently in the doghouse) boyfriend. She even had the cheesy promise ring to prove it. She was  _not_ gay. She  _couldn't_  be. She was  _Catholic_. She'd been taught all her life, both at church and at home, that homosexuality was a sin.

She wasn't homophobic or anything. Despite what the bible said, she didn't really have a problem with other people being gay. She had no problem with Kurt or his (almost, maybe, boy)friend, Blaine. She just couldn't see choosing that lifestyle for herself. And yeah, she understood that it wasn't really a choice—because really, who would  _choose_ to be tormented and taunted and discriminated against?—but it  _was_  a choice for her. The good, righteous, ethical choice. She had  _chosen_  to date guys. She'd been pregnant for God's sake. Wasn't that proof enough of her heterosexuality?

It's not like she'd ever checked out other girls in the locker room. Okay, yes she had, but not in a gay way. All girls scoped out the competition, right? Comparing and contrasting? It wasn't sexual. She never got turned on when she caught Brittany and Santana being…well, Brittany and Santana. That weird twisting in her belly was revulsion, not arousal. She'd  _know_  the difference, wouldn't she?

So what if she'd maybe really enjoyed kissing Rachel—more than she'd enjoyed kissing any of her boyfriends. She'd just apparently had boyfriends who sucked at kissing. So what if she'd woken up Saturday morning at 3:00 am after one of  _those_  dreams and spent the next two hours lying awake, analyzing every interaction that she'd ever had with Rachel Berry, looking for any signs of a preexisting attraction, only to discover, to her horror that she had, in fact, been unusually fixated on the girl since freshman year. But it  _so_  wasn't because of some repressed sexual attraction or anything; it was only because Rachel was such an easy target—self-centered and annoying, with a better-than-everyone attitude that had always rubbed Quinn the wrong way.

And yes, Rachel  _was_  extremely talented, and maybe Quinn really did lov—like— _like_  listening to her sing. She could also admit that she had a habit of staring at Rachel when no one else was watching, but it was only because Rachel was really passionate when she was performing, or ranting about...well, anything, and you couldn't help being strangely drawn to her. Quinn could even acknowledge, to herself anyway, that Rachel was kind of pretty in an unusual way, and yeah, also kind of hot sometimes too, but that was purely from an objective stand point—the whole comparing and contrasting thing again. Sue Sylvester's first rule of competition was  _know your enemy_.

Overall, Quinn was happy to classify her feelings for Rachel Berry as very strong dislike, tempered with occasional bouts of grudging respect. The sex dreams were just another sign of an overly hormonal teenager with way too much shit on her mind that manifested in weird and abstract ways.

The real problem, she'd decided, was that she'd been too nice to Rachel lately, and that had to change. Quinn was going to restore the natural order of things. First, she'd get Sam back into line, and then—then she'd make sure Rachel Berry got reacquainted with the queen bitch.

 

 

•••

"Hey dude, how was your weekend?"

Sam Evans winced slightly at the force of Finn's hand as it slapped down on his shoulder, and glanced over to his friend. "Uh, alright I guess."

"Cool." Finn grinned, clearly not picking up on Sam's unenthusiastic response. "Mine was awesome. Rachel let me feel her up  _under_  her shirt,  _and_  I kicked Puck's ass in our  _Call Of Duty_  marathon Saturday. He blamed it on his hangover, but it still totally counts. I, uh, would have called to invite you, but Puck kinda hates your guts…you know, with the whole Quinn thing."

"Oh," Sam muttered dismally. "Speaking of Quinn—when you guys were together, did she ever, ah, call you a dick and refuse to speak to you again until you apologized for whatever it is she thinks you did wrong?"

Finn paused, a blank look falling over his face for a beat before he started chuckling, then outright laughing, at least until he caught the embarrassment on Sam's face. "Sorry, man. I've been there. Believe me. My advice, just say you're sorry and that she was totally right and you were totally wrong."

"But," Sam started, but Finn silenced him with a frown and a hand in the air.

"She was totally right, and you were totally wrong. If you're lucky, she won't break up with you."

Sam blanched, "She wouldn't do that, would she?"

Finn shrugged, "It's Quinn. She does whatever she wants. Freshman year, she totally made the captain of the varsity basketball team cry in the middle of the cafeteria. I think that dude had to move to Pittsburgh the next day, or something. But hey," he grinned and slapped Sam's shoulder again, "Good luck."

Sam watched Finn lumber down the hall and grimaced, feeling (not for the first time) that Finn was secretly hoping that his relationship with Quinn would tank. They were mostly friends, but from time to time that underlying sense of competition reared up and caused friction between the two boys. Sighing, he closed his locker and started toward the history class that he shared with his (hopefully still) girlfriend.

He'd spent the weekend reflecting on the stupid argument they'd had, and yeah, he probably shouldn't have called her a bitch, but he'd be lying if he said he was okay with the hateful insults that dripped so carelessly off Quinn's tongue. That shit was just not cool. Especially when, for once, Rachel Berry really hadn't deserved it. Okay, Rachel mostly never deserved half the crap that people said to her, but who was he to defend her? That was what Finn was supposed to be doing.

It wasn't like Sam hadn't heard the horror stories about Quinn—heck, she'd lied to Finn about being the father of her child and basically tortured him with guilt so he'd stay with her and take care of her and her medical bills. The general consensus at McKinley was that Quinn was a much better person since the whole baby thing, but yeah, there were moments when she was less than pleasant to be around. She was still a little bitchy, and kind of fanatical about her image and maintaining her (their) popularity, and maybe a little too invested in besting Santana and making snide comments about Rachel. He'd thought the Rachel thing was because of the Finn thing, and had worried briefly that maybe Quinn still had feelings for her ex-boyfriend until Kurt had assured him that Quinn had been firing pointed insults at Rachel for years—long before Finn Hudson had registered on either of the girls' radars.

So the whole kiss thing had been kind of weird. Sam had expected Quinn to refuse. After all, Quinn's desire to  _torture Rachel_  had been made clear in the very first conversation he'd had with her. Then again, maybe that was ultimately why she'd given in, since Rachel was actually defending Quinn's right to say  _no_  in a way that made her own agreeability—and therefore, herself—seem superior. One of the first things he'd learned about Quinn was that she didn't like to lose, so it totally made sense that she'd want to prove a point to Rachel, and Santana, and probably even Puck. Don't underestimate Quinn Fabray. Sam just hadn't been expecting the kiss to be so… _hot_. He'd been shocked speechless, along with everyone else, until the girls had jumped apart looking even more stunned than their friends. Then Quinn had upgraded her bitch mode to super size, threatened Santana, verbally degraded Rachel, stormed out on their friends, and topped the night off by calling Sam a moron. If he didn't know that Quinn was totally into guys, he might be worried that she was, like, repressing her secret love for Rachel Berry, or something. Who was he kidding? He  _was_  kind of worried…

And now he had a choice. He could stand his ground, call Quinn out (he wouldn't even acknowledge the unintentional pun—oh, except he sort of just did) and possibly lose her. Or, he could keep his opinions to himself, let her vent her bitchiness on targets that were not him, and hopefully get to keep the head cheerio as his girlfriend. Sighing, Sam smoothed a hand over his bangs and entered the classroom, his eyes immediately landing on the gorgeous blonde. She was sitting, posture perfectly straight, toward the back of the room, and there was an empty desk next to her that was calling out his name. He'd worked so hard to win her over. They were the golden couple, poised to rule the school. He wasn't about to give that up because of a little adversity. Rachel Berry would just have to fend for herself.

 

 

•••

Quinn was aware of Sam sliding into the desk next to her, and she slanted him an unaffected glare. He flashed her what she was sure he thought was a charming grin, and she raised an eyebrow. He so wasn't getting off that easily. She felt a flicker of triumph when his smile disappeared and he bowed his head sheepishly.   _Good boy_ , she thought, ignoring the obedient dog metaphor that sprang to mind, even if it was kind of fitting.

Sam leaned toward her, quietly murmuring, "Hey, I'm…uh…really sorry. You know, about the other night, and…um…hanging up on you and everything. I was wrong."

Quinn's eyebrows inched up a little higher. That seemed way too easy. "Are you really sorry, or are you just telling me what I want to hear so that I'll forgive you?"

A look of confusion clouded his features. "Ah…really sorry?"

"So you know what you did wrong?" she pushed. Sam bit his lip and appeared to be carefully thinking about the correct answer. Quinn suppressed a laugh. Really, boys were so predictable.

"I should have been more supportive of your feelings," he finally answered. "And I shouldn't have called you a bitch. You were right to be pissed at me, and I promise I won't do it again."

"So," she purred, "if I wanted you to make it up to me by, say, giving Berry a slushie facial today, you'd do it?"

He paled a bit and gulped in a deep breath. "I really, really wish you wouldn't ask me to do that, you know, because of Finn, but…yeah, I would."

Quinn smiled and reached out to stroke Sam's cheek, feeling a little high on the power she apparently had over him. "You're forgiven. And don't worry, you're off the hook on the slushie front. I've already made arrangements."

Sam frowned, and looked like he was ready to question her further, but the teacher chose that moment to enter and call the class to attention. Quinn turned to face forward and opened her notebook, diligently refocusing all her attention to the lecture on World War II.


	3. The Lady Doth Protest

**The Lady Doth Protest  
**

Rachel Berry started Monday morning feeling oddly optimistic despite the somewhat unsettling weekend. She had awoken to the inspirational sounds of Kelly Clarkson's  _Breakaway_  playing on her iPod at her usual time of exactly 5:30 a.m., feeling well rested—perhaps for the first time since Friday—and had promptly thrown her covers off, straightened her pink flannel sheets (Lima, Ohio in mid-winter was very, very cold), changed into her workout clothes and spent an invigorating thirty minutes on her elliptical. After a refreshingly hot shower, she'd completed her morning beauty regime, chosen her outfit, and bounded down the stairs to enjoy a healthy (vegan) breakfast.

Finn had pulled into her driveway at 7:00 a.m., amazingly on time for a change, and while the incessant honking instead of coming to her door like a true gentleman still irked her to no end, she'd nevertheless greeted him with a kiss. They'd engaged in a very pleasant conversation on the ten minute drive to school—well, she'd pleasantly conversed and Finn had grunted the occasional required  _uh huh_ —but it was a vast improvement over many of their past, less than satisfying interactions.

Upon arriving at school, Finn had held her hand as he'd walked her to her locker, then he kissed her goodbye before bounding away to begin his day—it should come as no great surprise that her boyfriend did not share any of her AP classes. Rachel had a smile on her face as she made her way to chemistry, and her good spirits remained all throughout first period.

Second period was only slightly less enjoyable for the presence of Kurt in her psychology class—not that Kurt himself was objectionable these days. The tentative friendship that they'd recently forged was extremely important to Rachel, and thankfully, it seemed to be weathering their renewed rivalry in glee. She was actually grateful that he'd come back to McKinley, citing a dire need for individuality and fear of being assimilated into the hive mind—whatever that meant. She assumed it hadn't hurt that Karofsky had gotten expelled just after Christmas break for beating up Jacob Ben Israel, supposedly in an attempt to stop a potentially explosive story that the little gossip monger had been planning to publish on his blog.

In any case, engaging in friendly banter with Kurt had become one of the highlights of her day. Unfortunately, Rachel had been finding a great many things to be vexingly out of the ordinary since Friday night, and Kurt was no exception. The moment she entered the classroom, the boy's expression turned alarmingly devious, and he'd beckoned her over to the empty desk behind him. She flashed him a genuine smile as she internally basked in the warm, bubbly sensation of happiness that grew from actually having a friend save her a seat. The bubble burst fairly quickly, however, when he spun around with a sly grin. "So, Ms. Berry, whatever did you get up to this weekend?"

Rachel looked at him oddly. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, please, honey. I have to live with Finn. As much as I really don't want to hear anything about his," and here, Kurt paused and shuddered slightly, " _conquests_ , I couldn't escape his dopey, drooling smile when he finally stumbled home in the wee hours of the morning after Puck's party." Kurt reached over and gripped Rachel's hand. "Please, just tell me we won't have to endure another babygate."

"Kurt!" Rachel screeched, drawing annoyed looks from the surrounding students. She felt the tips of her ears grow hot, and she sank down into her chair, lowering her voice to a raspy whisper. "I don't know what Finn may have implied, but I can assure you that we did not," and Rachel just knew her face was bordering on purple as she barely mouthed "have sex."

Kurt drew back and eyed her. "You obviously did  _something_  to give Finn a happy. He's been more obnoxious than usual this weekend."

Rachel gripped the edge of her desk and leaned forward, careful to keep her voice low. "Not that it's  _any_  of your business, but the only thing we did was kiss," she bit her lip and dropped her gaze to the desk, "like, for a long time, and maybe some touching," she confessed meekly, then snapped her eyes up again and growled, "above the waist only."

He stared at her for a minute, probably attempting to decide whether she was telling the truth, and then nodded slightly. "Hmm, yes, I suppose that  _is_  the script you'd follow," he intoned in that arrogant manner that never failed to irritate Rachel.

Her eyes narrowed. "What is that supposed to mean?"

He grinned again. "Nothing at all."

"It's not nothing. It's definitely something," she accused.

"Just a theory I have that may or may not prove itself out," he answered cryptically, then turned his back to Rachel just as the bell rang.

She sat there glaring at the back of Kurt's perfectly-coiffed head, wondering just  _what_ Finn Hudson had said to the fair haired boy to inspire that horribly embarrassing discussion about her sex life, or lack thereof. It wasn't as if anything truly significant had happened Friday night. After her… _unfortunate experience_ with Quinn, Rachel hadn't much been in the party mood, and Finn, for once, had been sensitive enough to her feelings to offer to take her home. Although, on further reflection, Finn may have had romantic ulterior motives for that, directly resulting from a combination of teenage boy hormones—which may or may not have been heightened by witnessing said  _unfortunate experience_  with Quinn—and the knowledge that Rachel's fathers had driven to Cleveland to see the touring company of  _Jersey Boys,_  and decided to spend the night in the city before returning home on Saturday. Not that Rachel had objected to Finn's plans for her empty house, per se. Prior to the (reiterated again)  _unfortunate experience_ , she'd been looking forward to spending some time alone with her boyfriend, while remaining true to her vow to wait until she was twenty five to be fully intimate with her chosen partner, slash love of her life—who may or may not be Finn Hudson.

Regardless of what Finn might think, Rachel was not a prude. When she'd declared to the entirety of the Celibacy Club that  _girls want sex just as much as guys do_ , she'd meant it. Her decision to wait did not negate her sex drive, which was very much intact and embarrassingly healthy, thank you very much. So much so that there was a time last year when she might have jumped into her first sexual encounter without a second thought, if the right person had asked. But then she'd had to watch Quinn Fabray struggle through an unexpected teen pregnancy, and Rachel couldn't help but examine how ready she truly was for such a potentially life altering event. She never wanted to regret her own first time the way Quinn undoubtedly always would.

Quinn, who had invaded Rachel's thoughts more than she cared to admit, thanks to that  _unfortunate exper_ —well,  _that_. The whole spin-the-bottle fiasco just would not stop haunting her all weekend. She'd known better than to participate, especially after she and Finn had just gotten past the hurt and jealousy of their last breakup. She should never have put herself in the position to cheat again, if spin-the-bottle could even be considered cheating. Still, she and Finn had agreed prior to joining the game that they would both be okay with whatever happened, even knowing that she might be forced to watch him kiss Santana, or he might be forced to watch her kiss Noah. But Quinn?  _That_  had taken them both by surprise.

Rachel couldn't deny (and she had really, really tried) that her  _unfortu_ —oh, screw it—her  _kiss_  with Quinn had affected her. Despite her best effort to fit it into the neat little box labeled  _high school party shenanigans to one day laugh about_ , it kept trying to jump on top of the  _things I want too much_  pile, which was entirely unacceptable. So she'd focused on the one thing that had been previously on top of that particular pile, excepting of course the lead in a Broadway musical and the coveted Emmy-Grammy-Oscar-Tony combination. That is to say, she'd focused on Finn.

He'd driven her home, and she'd invited him inside and up to her bedroom where they'd proceeded to make out as they had done countless times in the past. But Rachel hadn't been able to shake off the edginess or confusion that had been building up inside her since  _the kiss_ , and the combination of these things may have contributed to her allowing Finn certain liberties that he'd previously been denied. Needless to say, he'd been very enthusiastic despite the very firm boundary that remained in place. His hands had wandered under her blouse and drawn circles over her skin, fingertips creeping closer and closer to her bra, and when they'd slipped beneath the lace, Rachel had suppressed her instinctive urge to stop him. Instead, she'd made it very clear that he wasn't going any further than that, and after a brief hesitation in which he's appeared to contemplate pressing for more, he'd happily taken advantage of the ground she had willingly given him. Rachel had tried to lose herself in the moment, to be swept away by passion, but she just couldn't seem shake the unpleasant sensation that something was missing. Something wholly indefinable. Something she stubbornly refused to name.

The ringing of the bell snapped Rachel out of her musings, and she realized that she'd missed at least half the lecture on Pavlov. She shoved her books into her bag and scrambled to catch up with Kurt, intending to ask if she could borrow his notes, and perhaps interrogate him further on his earlier comments. She'd barely cleared the door of the classroom before she felt the painful sensation of ice stinging her eyes, and tasted the faintest hint of diluted grape in her mouth.

"Quinn says  _hello, freak_ ," taunted Azimio as he ambled past. Rachel lifted a trembling hand to her eyes and wiped away the sticky frozen syrup, catching sight through her blurred vision of the aforementioned cheerleader casually leaning against the row of lockers directly across from her. Her firm mouth twisted into a mocking smirk before she spun and strutted down the hall with an arrogant swagger.

Rachel had been slushied a multitude of times during her tenure at McKinley, each one as humiliating as the last, and each undoubtedly a source of great entertainment to the more popular masses. The laughter currently ringing out around her was a familiar soundtrack. She was no stranger to being degraded by her classmates, or even, more specifically, by Quinn Fabray. She'd grown impervious to the taunts for the most part, or at least perfected the appearance of it, but this particular incident stung more than any other—because just last year, Quinn had learned first hand what  _this_  felt like.

"Oh, sweetie," Kurt soothed, coming to stand beside Rachel and tentatively wrap his arm around her shoulder, careful not to stain the sleeve of his new Tommy Hilfiger blazer, of course. "Let's get you cleaned up." She drew in a deep, shuddering breath and nodded, allowing herself to be led to the nearest girl's bathroom after a brief stop to retrieve her emergency bag. Kurt pushed open the door as though he owned the room and ushered Rachel inside. He glared at the two girls fluffing their hair in front of the mirrors. "Out."

One of them glared right back. "The little boy's room is next door."

"And the little skank's room is downstairs next to the incinerator where that trashy Sears knockoff should be burned for its sins." The girl squeaked indignantly, but grabbed her bag and her friend, and left without another word.

"Thank you, Kurt," Rachel said softly after wiping her face. "I'm usually left to my own devices after a slushie attack."

The boy frowned as he met her gaze in the mirror. "I'm sorry, Rachel. I guess none of us have been a particularly good friend to you."

Her mouth twisted in a self-depreciating smile. "I am aware that I'm not always the easiest person to deal with."

"No, you aren't," he agreed easily, then flashed a grin. "Neither am I, for that matter, but I'd like to think that we're getting better."

"We are," she agreed, reaching out take his hand and give it a squeeze.

He squeezed back. "Okay, enough of this melodramatic bonding," he pulled the folding chair out from the corner (yes, there was now one in every bathroom in the school for just this purpose) and sat it in front of the sink. "Sit your fine behind down and let me run my magic fingers through that glorious hair. I'm in the mood for a makeover."

Rachel's eyes widened and she took a step back. "A…makeover?"

"It's just an expression," he said with an eye-roll, grasping her shoulders and steering her into the chair. "I promise I won't ever make you look like a sad clown hooker again. Although that sweater," he gestured down to her purple stained black and white cat covered sweater with an exaggerated grimace "really has got to go."

She glanced down at herself briefly before crossing her arms over said article of clothing and glaring up at Kurt. "I happen to  _like_  this sweater."

"Well, it's stained now anyway. Take it off," he commanded as he pulled out the plain white cardigan from her bag.

"Kurt! I'm not taking off my shirt in front of you."

"Please, we're all girls here."

She continued to glare up at him silently with crossed arms.

"Fine. Hair first, then." He reached over to run the water in the sink and tipped Rachel's head back, gently beginning to rinse her hair. "You know, Rachel, you really do drive me insane with your fashion choices. Half the time you dress like a color blind preschooler channeling a naughty Catholic schoolgirl, and the other half like Laura Ingles Wilde on crack. But every once in a blue moon, you actually manage to look almost fashionable. A little consistency would do wonders for reducing my stress levels."

Rachel actually giggled a little at Kurt's teasing now that it had lost most of the spiteful edge that was present before their tentative friendship. She knew her fashion sense would never be on par with his, but she was comfortable with her clothes, and she didn't plan on trying to change for anyone again. "I woefully regret that my wardrobe is a subject of concern for you."

Kurt finished with her hair and proceeded to dry it with a towel. "Hmm. What's more a concern is Quinn's sudden regression to the pre-babygate bitch that we all knew and loathed."

Rachel sighed, "Yes, well, I suppose the brief respite was bound to come to an end eventually, but I don't think that you have much reason to worry. Quinn seems to genuinely like you, and just about everyone else in glee—except for me, obviously."

"She seemed to like you well enough when her tongue was shoved in your mouth," he smirked, ignoring the way that Rachel went rigid under his ministrations. "Which by the way, may have scarred me for life."

"Kurt! That is a terribly crude thing to say," Rachel screeched as she jumped up from the chair and paced across the length of the bathroom. "And I am highly offended that that you would even mention that completely out of character and entirely distasteful experience."

"Seriously?" Kurt crossed his arms and cocked a single eyebrow at her tantrum. "Is that your final answer? Because, sweetie, from where I was sitting, you  _both_ seemed to be enjoying yourselves immensely."

Rachel felt her stomach (definitely  _not_  her heart) flutter at his words, conceding that she  _had_  enjoyed it, was thrilled that it may have been mutual, and horrified that Kurt  _knew_ , but entirely unwilling to admit to any of the above. She lifted her chin defiantly, placed her hands on her hips and stared the boy down. "We were most definitely  _not_  enjoying anything! I believe that our renewed commitment to mutual contempt is obvious, as evidenced by the slushie to my face, and I would greatly appreciate it if you would refrain from implying that either of us may have any inclinations otherwise." She grabbed her bag from the floor in a graceful motion and proceeded to execute a perfect diva storm-out, marred only by the fact that she clearly heard Kurt's melodic parting shot before the door closed behind her.

" _The lady doth protest too much…"_

"Hamlet can suck it," she growled under her breath as she marched to her next class, too riled up to even care that the students who remained loitering in the hallways until the late bell were parting around her as easily as they ever had for Quinn Fabray. Denial had been so much easier to manage when nobody really cared enough to notice the truth.


	4. Hovering Somewhere Above Three

**Hovering Somewhere Above Three  
**

The first thing that Kurt noticed when he entered the choir room was Quinn Fabray in the front row, arms crossed over her chest, right leg demurely hooked over her left, and sporting her usual look of cool indifference—even though Sam was talking animatedly to her about something or other that Kurt (and from the look of it, Quinn) didn't care to know about. Sam was slightly vapid and uninteresting, and Kurt didn't know  _why_  he'd ever been marginally attracted in the first place, but that was beside the point. He raised a brow at Quinn, still a little miffed on Rachel's behalf, which was a strange development considering his own checkered history with her. Quinn just mirrored his action (and damn it,  _why_  was she so much better at that eyebrow thing than everyone else?) and glared back at him, silently daring him to say a word.

He supposed his sudden protective streak was a natural progression from his whole ordeal with Karofsky and that fact that  _Rachel Berry_ , of all people, had actually been the one to notice how badly he'd been struggling last fall. They really were more alike than he wanted to admit, perhaps even more so now that she and Quinn had practically broken his gaydar on Friday—not that Quinn hadn't been giving it a workout all on her own for the last few years. Babygate had quieted his suspicions for awhile, but now they were back with a vengeance.

Kurt's instinct on these matters wasn't exactly infallible. He would have never guessed that Karofsky had been rattling against the closet doors all these years. Meanwhile, Sam and his bleached-out hair had totally pinged for him, at least until he'd started following Quinn around like a besotted puppy. He wondered what Sam would do if it turned out that his girlfriend was batting for the home team. Not that Kurt was in any way interested in Sam, especially when he had Blaine. Okay, so he didn't exactly  _have_  Blaine in the romantic sense. They were only friends, for now, but at least he knew that Blaine was one hundred percent gay.

Quinn, however, was a mystery. On the surface, there was the whole strict Christian upbringing that seemed to be a big check in the must-be-straight category, not to mention the string of popular jock boyfriends and,  _hello_ , the whole pregnancy thing, which was a pretty big indication that she must be into guys. On the other hand, rumor had it (because Kurt did love his gossip) that Quinn was back to her  _teasing-not-pleasing_  mantra, and from what he'd heard from Mercedes, the one-time only crossing of that line with Puck hadn't exactly sparked any desire for a repeat performance. Kurt had often wondered if Quinn's reputation and tenure as president of the Celibacy Club had just been a convenient way to keep the boys at arms length. And her choice of boy toys—with the possible exception of Puck— _had_  been on the big, dumb (easily controlled) and sweet side. The evidence for and against was equally compelling, but the one thing that seemed to keep Quinn hovering somewhere above three on the Kinsey scale was one Rachel Barbra Berry.

It wasn't even so much the name-calling, or the slushies, because seriously, Quinn had done that to  _everyone—_ although Rachel's epithets were decidedly more sexual in nature than was strictly normal. Kurt honestly never used to care very much about how Quinn Fabray treated Rachel since they weren't exactly friends until recently. No, what really got him to sit up and pay attention was an incident early freshman year when he'd had the misfortune of sharing the same gym period with both girls.

The first semester had been co-ed tennis—Rachel had been shockingly good at the sport for someone who generally wasn't very athletic—and it had been warm enough that short shorts and t-shirts were standard apparel. Kurt and most of the girls had enjoyed leaning against the fence and ogling the cute boys as they'd run around all sweaty and forceful, but Quinn, isolated from her cheerio cohorts, had just looked bored. He hadn't thought much of it at first, until Rachel's turn came around. For all her irritating personality quirks and nauseating fashion sense, the girl possessed a certain unexpected hotness. Even Kurt had been obliged to admit that Rachel had legs to die for, and since she was just as competitive at tennis as everything else that she attempted, those legs had gotten one hell of a workout. The boys had been leering appreciatively. And so had Quinn.

At first, Kurt had thought he was seeing things or misinterpreting one of the Quinn's patented glares for something almost like hunger. But,  _no_ , as he'd continued to covertly study her, she'd continued to watch Rachel—hazel eyes following Rachel's every move, her teeth absently chewing on her lower lip, and her tongue darting out to moisten the abused flesh every so often. After that, Kurt's interest had been captured, and he'd spent the rest of the term thoroughly entertained by Quinn Fabray not-so-secretly eye-fucking Rachel Berry every time she bounced around the tennis court.

From that moment on, he'd noticed that Quinn subtly checked out other girls from time to time, though not to the same degree that she did with Rachel. When she'd joined glee last year, she still spent most of her time staring at Rachel, but with the whole angst-ridden, teen triangle (quadrangle?) and the baby drama, he'd started mentally pushing Quinn back toward the straight and narrow.

Rachel had been even harder to get a read on, and Kurt was often frustrated in his attempts. He'd written her off years ago as very straight and incredibly boy crazy. Yes, she could go on for hours about her gay dads and acceptance and civil rights and all that dull drivel, but she also had the tendency to throw herself at any male who showed the slightest bit of interest and cling for all her worth. But every so often, she'd say or do something so completely  _gay_ that he'd start wondering again. Like wanting to organize a Gaylesball last year, or telling him that she understood his loneliness in a way that made him believe that she was experiencing  _exactly_  the same thing for  _exactly_  the same reason, or her tendency to get  _very_  touchy-feely with the other girls when she was in performance mode. And she  _did_  keep putting off Finn's attempts at sex, despite claiming to be so in love with him.

Kurt may have been a little (okay, a lot) buzzed Friday night, but once he'd gotten past the initial gag reflex from witnessing the girl-on-girl action, he'd been able to recognize the look of stunned passion that they'd both been wearing when they'd parted. He'd totally anticipated Quinn's reversion to super bitch mode, he just hadn't known if Rachel would be taking the complete denial route or instantly crushing on Quinn. It seemed like denial was the winner, peppered with an unhealthy dose of hiding behind her relationship with Finn. Kurt was just grateful that she hadn't decided to sleep with the poor boy in some misguided attempt to prove she wasn't gay.  _Hmm_ , come to think of it,  _that_  approach would actually explain babygate a hell of a lot better than Quinn feeling fat that day.

Putting his musings on pause, Kurt made his way up the risers to the middle row and dropped into the empty chair next to Mercedes, greeting her with a smile before turning his attention to the door. They were positioned on the opposite end from Quinn, and he had a fairly decent view of her profile. He did not want to miss any potential drama when Rachel made her grand entrance. Alas, the wrong brunette was the next through the door. Santana swaggered in with a scowl and silently claimed the chair to Kurt's left with a  _do-not-fuck-with-me_ vibe rolling off her in waves. A few seconds later, Artie wheeled into the room with Brittany on his lap, and Kurt shook his head as he realized the reason for Santana's surlier than usual mood. He'd given up trying to make sense of  _that_ relationship. Brittany would try to sleep with anything, and Santana mostly came off like a spoiled bitch who didn't want to share any of her toys.

And right on cue, two more of said toys made an appearance. Puck and Finn ambled in together, leaving only Rachel unaccounted for. Kurt frowned, wondering what was taking her so long. It was rare for Rachel to be the last one to glee, and when Mr. Schuester walked in, Kurt started to worry even more.

"Hey, guys, I've got a great idea for your next assignment," he paused to look around. "Where's Rachel?"

A chorus of mumbled  _don't knows_ (plus one or two  _don't cares_ ) sounded, along with a few shrugs. Kurt ever-so-slightly leaned forward in his chair and looked over at Quinn, noticing the little smirk on her face. He had a bad feeling about that. Mercedes bumped his shoulder and whispered, "Maybe one of us will actually get to sing today."

He was on the verge of responding when Rachel stormed in, fists clenched, face scrubbed clean, and hair dripping wet again. The plain white cardigan that she'd changed into earlier was stained blue. Kurt felt his stomach bubble with anticipation as she pointed a finger right in Quinn's face.

"You. Are. Despicable! I cannot believe you had that Neanderthal slushie me twice today! And right before glee! What the hell is your problem?"

Everyone in the room gasped; Kurt could only presume it was because no one had ever heard Rachel swear. Quinn seemed to hesitate for a beat before she batted Rachel's hand away and stood from her chair to go toe-to-toe with the shorter girl. "I  _told_ you to keep your man-hands away from me!"

"Quinn, Rachel," Mr. Schue unsuccessfully attempted to dispel the tension humming between the two girls, but they ignored him.

"I would gladly maintain my distance if only you would extend me the same courtesy."

"You're the one invading my space, Frodo. I never came near you."

"Please…you specifically had me targeted, and I demand to know why!"

"Rachel," their teacher tried again.

"Because you deserve it, you little freak," Quinn yelled.

"Enough!" Mr. Schue demanded with a shout, and both girls flinched slightly. "Quinn, sit down right now." She glared at him and opened her mouth to argue, but Mr. Schue cut her off. "Not one more word. Sit!" He pointed to the chair, and Quinn angrily complied, crossing her arms and continuing to stare him down.

Beside Kurt, Santana barked out a quiet laugh, muttering, "completely off the deep end" under her breath.

"You too, Rachel," Mr. Schue sighed wearily.

She spun toward him with her hands on her hips. "Are you serious? You're not even going to reprimand her for her blatant verbal bullying?"

"Rachel," he snapped. "Just sit down and be quiet."

"Ah, hell no," Mercedes said quietly. "Even I know that's whack."

"Fine," Rachel snapped back, throwing herself into the empty chair in front of Kurt and crossing her arms to unconsciously match Quinn's posture perfectly. He leaned forward and patted her shoulder in support, and she tossed a grateful glance back in his direction, apparently having forgiven him for their earlier disagreement.

Mr. Schuester stood in front of the group, shaking his head. "What is wrong with you guys? I thought we'd gotten past all this selfish bickering after Sectionals. We're supposed to be a team." He directed his gaze to the head cheerio, "Quinn, I'm very disappointed in you. I thought you learned your lesson last year after the glist incident."

Rachel gasped, "That was you?"

"Please, she just makes it too easy," Quinn replied.

"Wow, you're being kind of mean, Quinn," Finn told her. "I know you and Rachel don't like each other, but at least she tries to be nice to you."

"Yeah, because stealing my boyfriend was so  _nice_ of her."

Sam's head whipped to his right. "I thought you didn't care about Finn anymore."

"I don't! I care about  _Rachel_ ," she growled, then turned an interesting shade of red when she realized exactly what she'd said. "I mean…I  _don't_  care about  _her_. I just care that she took what was mine. It could have been a pencil, and I'd care."

"Totally pressed," Santana mumbled, and Kurt shot the girl a questioning glance that she completely disregarded.

"That is it!" Mr. Schue ran a hand through his hair. "I don't want to hear another word; not another insult. You will all leave your personal issues at the door, and there will be nothing but harmony in this room from this moment on. Am I clear?"

"Isn't there always harmony here?" Brittany asked. "I mean, we sing and dance and stuff." Artie squeezed his girlfriend's hand and nodded in agreement.

Rachel shook her head and huffed, ripping at the buttons of her soiled cardigan and shrugging it off to reveal a tight black t-shirt underneath. She ran her fingers through her damp hair in an attempt to fluff it, but only succeeded in mussing it more. Kurt had to concede that the effect was not exactly unattractive. Apparently Santana agreed because she leaned forward and said, "Wet and wild is a good look on you Berry," loudly enough to draw everyone's attention. Rachel blushed, Finn bristled, and Quinn bit the corner of her lip in that oh-so-telling way.

Mr. Schue threw his hands up. "Santana, what did I just say?"

She crossed her arms. "What? I was being nice. She's hot when she's pissed." Rachel's blush deepened, and Quinn whipped her head back to glare at Santana, who grinned evilly at her captain.

"Watch your language," Mr. Schuester warned.

"Whatever," she shrugged.

"So, what's this amazing new assignment, Mr. Schue?" Kurt asked in an attempt to calm the still rippling waters around their little glee ship.

Their teacher sighed again and offered a weak smile. "Well, you guys did so well with the last boys versus girls mash-up competition…"

Puck groaned, "aw, c'mon man. Are we gonna have to sing chick songs again?"

"You're just hatin' 'cause we totally rocked our number and blew you guys off the stage," Mercedes said, and all the girls chimed in with their approval.

"You all rocked," Mr. Schue agreed, "but we're not doing mash-ups again, or even a competition. Part of that assignment was stepping out of your comfort zone and doing a song that was unexpected. I want you to do that again, only this time, with a solo. Pick a song from a genre of music that you wouldn't normally choose, or even necessarily listen to, and make it your own. Rachel, Kurt, no Broadway numbers," and they both gasped dramatically, "Mercedes and Santana, no R&B," he looked pointedly at Mercedes, "and no Motown either. Finn, nothing from the eighties and Puck, no Jewish singers."

"No fair," the boy complained. "I was gonna to bust out the Barry Manilow."

Everyone laughed, including Mr. Schue. "You guys get the idea. Shake it up. Experiment. Now, speaking of experimenting, I want to talk about a couple of musicians that did just that…pushing the boundaries… "

Kurt sat back in his seat and partially tuned out their teacher as he started waxing poetic about John Lennon. Instead, he entertained himself by alternately watching Quinn and Rachel attempt to sneak unsubtle glances at one another in the front row. Really, someone should just lock them in an empty classroom or something until they worked out all their unresolved sexual tension. A slow smile spread over his face as the thought took hold. He did so love a project.


	5. Don't Even Think It

**Don't Even Think It**

"Okay, guys, that's it for today. Start looking for your songs and I'll see you tomorrow."

At that verbal pardon, half the glee club—and Mr. Schuester—sprinted out of the choir room. Finn and Sam started talking about basketball, and Quinn was feeling particularly lazy, so she stayed in her chair for a minute just observing her fellow gleeks. It was a habit she'd picked up when she was pregnant, and she didn't feel a particular need to break it now.

Mercedes was hovering by the door, obviously waiting for Kurt, who was whispering something to Rachel, and boy was  _that_  friendship starting to grate on everyone's last nerve. They were both outrageous divas all on their own—combine the two together and it was a motive for murder. God help the glee club if Mercedes ever decided to join in on the act, too. Quinn stood up from her seat with the intent to talk to her friend, but Kurt chose that moment to skip over, link arms with Mercedes and drag her out the door—but not without shooting one final glare back in Quinn's direction.

_Yeah, not liking the new HummelBerry dynamic at all._

"Hey, chica," Santana purred, and Quinn's head whipped to her right, only to find the girl's attention focused on Rachel. "I meant what I said earlier. You should totally burn the fugly sweaters and keep rockin' this look," she emphasized with a light stroke of her fingers across Rachel's shoulder.

Quinn saw red—and it was much darker than the blush that colored Rachel's cheeks as she stuttered out, "Oh, ah, th-thank you, Santana. I think," she finished with a slight frown.

Santana winked, "Don't mention it." She spun toward Quinn with a smirk, though she couldn't tell if it was meant for her or Finn, who'd finally stopped bragging to Sam about his stupid points at the last game and decided to actually acknowledge his girlfriend. "Finnept," Santana spat as he approached.

"Really funny, Santana." He stepped closer to Rachel and reached for her hand. "C'mon, Rach, let's go."

Twin glowers were aimed at Quinn as the couple moved past her. Well, Rachel glowered pretty convincingly, Finn just looked constipated—kind of how he normally looked. What  _did_  Berry see in him anyway? What had  _Quinn_ ever seen in him?  _Oh yeah_ ,  _easily controlled,_  she recalled.

Santana, smirk still firmly in place, started to follow the couple out, being sure to brush against Quinn's shoulder and lowly mutter, "All aboard the crazy train."

"Screw you, Santana."

"In your dreams, Q," she called back as she cleared the doorway, hips swaying.

Quinn growled, fists clenched. She was seriously going to punch the girl one of these days. Maybe even today at practice. A hand gently came down on her shoulder, and she just about jumped through the roof. "Jesus!" She pressed a palm over her racing heart and turned to scowl at Sam. "Try warning a girl before you grope her."

"Sorry," he grinned sheepishly. "You ready to go."

Quinn shook her head. "I need to stop at my locker. You don't have to wait for me."

He frowned a little. "Are we still on for later. You know,  _studying_ ," he lowered his voice and leaned in. Quinn had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. Boys were so predictable.

"Yes, Sam. You can come over around 5:30. And we actually will be studying. We have a history quiz tomorrow. Remember?"

"Oh, yeah." He grinned again and cupped her cheek, ducking his head to kiss her softly. It was nice, but when she felt the tip of his tongue trace her lower lip, she pulled back and gave him a gentle shove.

"Later," she told him.

"Later, babe."

Okay, she really had to get him to stop with the  _babe._ He was starting to sound like Puck, and that was not making her feel all warm and fuzzy. Her locker was on the second floor and in the opposite direction from both the student parking lot and the gymnasium, so she and Sam parted ways outside of the choir room. She sprinted up the stairs and turned the corner, pausing when she came face to face with Finn hovering at her locker. Quinn caught her breath and glanced around the hallway in search of Rachel. Since they'd gotten back together ( _again_ the couple had been annoyingly codependent. Well, Rachel had been, anyway. Come to think of it, she kind of had been since the beginning of the school year. Not that Quinn paid all that much attention to Berry's brand of crazy. Because she didn't. At all.

Sighing, she made her way to her locker, still half-expecting the midget to appear from a crack in the wall and start screeching again. She would almost prefer that to Finn's dim-witted attempts at conversation. She really didn't have the patience to deal with him right now. "Move, Hudson," she demanded.

He shifted to the left, allowing Quinn to spin her combination and jerk the door open. She tossed her binder inside and pulled out her history book, all the while waiting for Finn to actually say something. When that didn't happen, she shut her locker and looked him over with a raised brow. He was absently rubbing at the back of his neck and looking bewildered—again, kind of the norm for him. She sighed and starting walking. Sure enough, she felt his suffocating presence immediately at her side, and lucky her, he even remembered how to speak.

"Hey Quinn, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"I don't know, can you?" she shot back cattily.

"Uh, I just wanted to ask you to maybe not be such a bitch to Rachel," he rushed out.

Quinn stopped walking. "I know you did not just call me a bitch to my face."

Finn buried his hands deep into the pockets of his Letterman jacket and shrugged. "Well, you weren't really facing me, and we're not dating anymore, so I guess I kind of did," he admitted, looking everywhere but into her eyes.

"Un-fricking-believable," she growled, and took off down the hall again. Finn quickly fell back into step at her side.

"Look, I'm not even asking you to be nice or anything, because I know you're not really capable of that," and Quinn had to restrain herself from hitting him over the head with her book, but the big idiot just kept rambling on, "and anyway, Rachel doesn't really like you either."

"She doesn't?" was out of her mouth before she could bite the words back. It's not like she even cared if  _Rachel Berry_  didn't like her. The feeling was fully mutual. She jerked to a stop again and grit her teeth. "Well, too bad for me."

"Look, all I'm saying is that, with me and Sam being friends, it'd be cool if our girlfriends could at least quietly tolerate each other, you know? I mean, you did for a while there and it was nice. Peaceful and stuff," he finished with what Quinn figured was meant to be an endearing half-grin, although she really just wanted to slap it off his stupid face.

"Oh God, grow up Finn. If you want peaceful you need to dump the Chihuahua and date someone who doesn't annoy the crap out of everyone around her. Hell, take Santana for another tumble. At least I don't want to shove an argyle sock in her mouth," Quinn paused and really thought that through, then admitted, "well, not all the time, anyway."

Finn's face had taken on that deep scarlet hue again, and his voice went up in volume and octave. "I'm not breaking up with Rachel. Not again." He paused and ducked his head. "Well, you know, as long as she stays away from Puck."

For some reason, his little dig on Rachel's past infidelity made Quinn really want to punch her former boyfriend right in his hypocritical nose. Since she couldn't really do that—because self-admitted bitchiness aside, Finn was freaking huge and he could crush her—she settled for a verbal smack down. "Please, like Puck would even be an issue if Rachel was as into you as you seem to think she is."

"Rachel loves me," he declared stubbornly.

Quinn snickered, "Yeah, right. She  _loves_  that you're popular. She  _loves_  that you're a pretty piece of arm candy for that twisted Broadway fantasy she's living out. She  _loves_  that you pretend to listen to her, even though you only fake it so she'll scratch your itch. And she  _loves_  that you eventually roll over, like a big, dumb puppy."

With every (true) word, she watched the boy turn a deeper shade of purple, until he finally snapped and shouted, "Screw you, Quinn! You don't know anything about me and Rachel."

_I know that I got her hotter with one kiss than you ever will with your pathetic slobbering._

Her internal monologue came to a grinding halt, and she frowned, shaking her head in silent denial. As much as she enjoyed twisting the knife and deflating Finn's delicate ego, there was no way she was going  _there_. Instead, she brought the conversation to an end with her well practiced apathy. "Whatever. I don't even care. Just don't ask me to play nice with your  _girlfriend_ , because it's not happening."

His nonsensical spluttering was lost to her as she strutted away, bounding down the nearby stairwell to the first floor. She took a few deep breaths at the bottom, trying to calm herself down. As much as she'd enjoyed baiting Finn, she really hadn't wanted to be dragged into the confrontation. What was he even thinking, trying to play the heroic boyfriend? He'd always sucked at it—Quinn should know that better than anyone. Rachel had probably put him up to it, crying to him with her big, brown eyes and trembling mouth and breathy little voice. And of course he fell for it because he was a total pushover. It was all Rachel's fault.

Quinn huffed out a frustrated breath and vowed to just forget about the whole stupid day. As she neared the gymnasium and locker rooms, she saw Mercedes standing at her own locker changing out books. Quinn was surprised that she hadn't left yet, and she decided to take a small detour. She'd been kind of a bad friend to her former housemate so far this year, and she wanted to change that. Besides, Mercedes always seemed to know how to make Quinn feel better. A pleasant smile curled her lips as she leaned against the wall. "Hey Cedes."

Mercedes shot her a sideways glance, flatly echoing, "Hey."

Okay, not the enthusiastic reception she'd been expecting. "Uh, try and sound a little less thrilled, there," she tried with humor.

Mercedes shut her locker with force. "Oh, I'm sorry. Am I supposed to be all happy and smiling because  _Queen_  Fabray deigns to speak with me, a humble gleek?"

Quinn straightened from the wall, defenses immediately on alert. "Whoa, what's with the attitude?"

"Like you don't know."

"Uh, I obviously don't," Quinn said, trying to keep her resurging anger from blowing up again.

Mercedes huffed, "Look, Quinn. After last year, I thought you were my girl but you obviously haven't changed at all. And I just don't now if I'm down with this version of you," she said, sweeping a hand up and down Quinn's red, white and black clad form.

"Oh, please," Quinn growled, forgetting about checking her temper. "Don't even tell me you're tripping over one little Berry slushie. You don't even like her."

"Okay, don't ever say  _trippin'_  again, white girl," Mercedes snapped back with a head roll. "And it's not about Rachel, okay. It's no secret that she's not my favorite person, but my man Kurt is cool with her, so I'm dealing. This is about  _you_. I thought you were one of us, that you understood what it was like to walk in our shoes. But if you can be that cold to Rachel, then…"

Quinn slammed a hand against the locker beside her, cutting off Mercedes mid-rant. "Oh my God! I'm sorry, but what I do and who I do it to is none of your business, Mercedes. You  _need_ to back off!"

Mercedes crossed her arms and stepped into Quinn's personal space. "And you need to chill, girlfriend. This bitchitude is not cool."

Quinn opened her mouth to respond, but she knew the only words forming were  _fuck you_ , and she really didn't want to say that to Mercedes. What came out instead was a completely inelegant "Ugh!" right before she spun on her heal and marched away, carelessly slamming through the double doors to the gym.

Who the hell had declared it call-Quinn-a-bitch day? Okay, so maybe ordering double slushies on Rachel  _had_ been just a little bit excessive. She'd expected the girl to come at her with a full-on diva tantrum, and yeah, she'd also figured that Finn might manage a few supportive squeaks. Even Kurt's critical looks hadn't been very surprising. But Mercedes? The girl had once made a crack about preserving Rachel in a jar in her basement. She had  _no_  room to act all superior all of a sudden.

And speaking of sudden—what the hell was Santana up to? First insinuating that Quinn was somehow losing her cool (which she totally was  _not_ , thank you very much) and then the completely out of character compliment to Rachel, and that touchy-feely crap! She could  _not_ just mess with other people like that. It was so wrong.

Kind of like ordering two slushies to be thrown on the girl you'd kissed breathless three days ago.

_Well, shit._

 

•••

Monday ended about as well as it had begun for Quinn, which is to say, less than spectacularly. Finn and Mercedes had pissed her off so badly that she'd actually made a few cheerios cry at practice, and Santana had smirked and snickered the whole time. She barely even remembered the drive home from the high school. An endless loop of angry rants and raves had played on repeat in her brain and may or may not have physically manifested into a fit of road rage unlike any before seen by Lima commuters.

Walking into an empty house once again hadn't really improved her mood—not that her mother's presence would have helped much. And it wasn't like Judy Fabray was out being a social butterfly with glass of wine in hand like she used to in the days when Russell had been head of the household. Her mother had woken up pretty quickly to the fact that kicking out her husband meant she'd have to find some way to put food on the table and pay the bills, and surprisingly, she'd lucked into a job as a receptionist for a local law firm. Luck, in the sense that one of Judy's bridge club friends had browbeat her husband into firing the sexy young redhead who'd been working there and hiring Judy instead. The bad part was that the firm kept later hours Monday through Wednesday, and her mom always had to work to at least six o'clock on those nights. For the most part, Quinn was proud of her mother for cleaning up her life, but it still sucked to be left to her own devices so often. But hey, at least she had a home again.

So Quinn made herself a sandwich and went up to her bedroom to lose the ponytail, strip out of her uniform and pull on some comfortable clothes. Normally, she'd have opted for comfy sweats and an over-sized t-shirt, but with Sam coming over, she was forced to keep up some semblance of appearance and chose a simple red scoop-neck shirt and a pair black pants. At 5:27, the doorbell sounded, and she bounded downstairs to greet her boyfriend.

She was actually pretty pleased with herself for regaining most of her calm, cool demeanor before Sam arrived. They settled onto the sofa with their books and managed to get a little bit of studying in before Sam shifted closer and started kissing her neck. At first, Quinn shrugged him off, citing the history quiz, but after a few repetitions of the cycle, she tossed her book onto the coffee table and focused her attention on Sam. He was her boyfriend after all, and she was supposed to make out with him—she stubbornly ignored the mocking little voice (that sounded oddly like Santana) telling her she was also supposed to actually enjoy it.

Sam brushed his lips over hers, and Quinn lightly looped her arms around his neck and allowed him to press her back against the plush sofa cushions. She was just starting to relax a little when he pulled back suddenly and asked, "Are you sure this is okay?"

"Yes, Sam."

"And your mom's not coming home soon? Because she kind of scares me a little. Especially after last time when she kept waving that knife around."

Quinn frowned a little at her boyfriend's comment, and reminded him, "She was chopping up the salad for dinner."  _You moron_ , was left unsaid, but was definitely implied by her tone. Too bad Sam totally missed the hint.

"But she was going a little crazy with the dicing."

"Did you just call my mom crazy?" Quinn snapped in irritation, shoving Sam back by his shoulders.

The boy paled a little, his eyes going wide. "No! No, just…you know…"

She was so not in the mood to listen to him dig himself in deeper. She had half a mind to tell him to leave, but if she did that she knew she'd just end up sitting there alone and stewing over her crappy day until her mom came home. So instead she hissed out a frustrated breath and threaded her fingers into Sam's hair. "Just shut up and kiss me, Sam." And this time, he actually took the cue.

He leaned back in to capture her mouth, and Quinn closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the softness of his lips—and they really  _were_  soft, and full. Not like Finn or Puck, or any of the other boys she'd kissed. More like…

_No, don't even think it._

Quinn squeezed her eyes shut even tighter and parted her lips, granting Sam permission to deepen the kiss, which he did eagerly. She conjured up the image of him in his gold Rocky Horror shorts with his sculpted chest and perfect six pack on full display, willing herself to respond appropriately to his tongue dancing against hers. Her left hand slid back into his hair, stroking through the lemon-bleached locks. It wasn't nearly as soft as it looked. Nowhere near as soft or as thick as…

This time Quinn couldn't make herself stop. The memory of Rachel materialized, and for one brief, wonderful,  _awful_ moment, she was right back at Puck's party and the rush of arousal took her breath away. She tore her mouth away from Sam's with a gasp. "Oh, god…stop," she panted, pushing at his shoulders again.

"Huh? But you just said…" Sam looked dazed, but he sat back on the sofa to give her a little space.

"I  _just_   _said_ stop. We're done," she growled, moving to perch on the very edge of the sofa and wrapping her arms protectively around her middle.

Sam pushed a hand through his hair, and then smoothed his bangs back down. "Did I do something wrong?"

Quinn's eyes fluttered closed and she let out a shaky breath. "No. No, you were…fine," she murmured the last word lowly, feeling a little sick that she'd just been kissing him and thinking of someone else. Thinking of… _no, stop it._  Quinn shook her head. "I just remembered that my mom said she might be home early," she lied. "So it'd be better if you just go now."

"Oh, okay. Are you sure I didn't do anything?"

She dropped her hands to her lap and looked over at Sam, feeling even worse when she saw how genuinely concerned he appeared. She forced a smile, and reached over to take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You didn't." She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss, careful not to linger, and was pleased to see him return her smile. She stood up and gave his hand a tug, grabbing his Letterman jacket off the chair and maneuvering him toward the door. "I'll see you tomorrow," she promised.

Sam grinned down at her and then gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "Later, babe."

Quinn rolled her eyes at the endearment, and kept smiling until the Sam was safely in his car and she could close the door to the outside world. Then she sagged against the cold mahogany and cried.


	6. Gay Cupid

**Gay Cupid**

Tuesday morning found the majority of the student body tripping over their own feet in their haste to avoid the head cheerio when she stormed through the main entrance and thundered through the hallways. There were, however, a few notable exceptions. Santana was leaning against her locker with arms crossed and glaring at Brittany and Wheels when Quinn went marching past her with a familiar, pissed-off scowl in place. She really needed a good distraction from all the sugary sweet lovey-dovey crap her supposed best friend was spewing all over her (misogynistic, condescending ass of a) boyfriend, so she pushed off the wall and followed in Blondie's wake.

Quinn sailed by Kurt and Mercedes, who were deep into some conversation by the water fountain, and Santana watched them both snap to attention and stare after Quinn. Santana managed a terse nod of greeting as she blew by them, but ignored Kurt when he called out her name so that she could continue her pursuit, and she grinned in victory the second Quinn turned the corner to the music annex. Tubbers was headed straight for the auditorium, and it was common knowledge at McKinley that only one person could be found there at this time of the morning before the first period bell. Santana picked up her pace when she saw Quinn slam through the theater doors, not wanting to miss any of the fun.

Maybe getting her jollies by watching Quinn go full speed ahead with her melt down could be considered a little cold-hearted —okay,  _a lot_ —but it's not like she didn't try to warn her yesterday. Okay, so there had been a little more provocation than concern in the exchange, but only because Quinn was being extra bitchy about it. They might have known each other since kindergarten, but they were never exactly the best of friends—hell, they couldn't even qualify as frienemies anymore. Years of trying to top one another had bred both familiarity and contempt, and as a result, Santana had learned almost all of Quinn's secrets and triggers. So of course she knew  _exactly_  how long of a fuse had been lit at Puck's party. It was just a matter of time until the whole thing exploded.

As expected, the midget diva was on stage singing her little heart out—nothing that Santana recognized, so it was probably some boring show tune or something. What  _was_  a little surprising was that Rachel was playing the piano as she sang.  _Huh?_ She had no idea that the dwarf could play, and she wasn't half bad. Quinn must have been just as surprised because she came to a momentary halt in the middle of the aisle and just stood there listening for a good thirty seconds or more. Santana couldn't see Quinn's face, but she was willing to bet that Quinn was wearing that totally obvious, awestruck look that she got every time she watched Berry perform. She quietly snickered and slid into one of the seats near the back of the auditorium, sinking down low and waiting for the show to begin. The acoustics in there were really awesome.

She was not disappointed. Quinn jerked back into motion and stomped up the stairs at the side of stage. Berry finally noticed Quinn coming at her and the music stopped abruptly. She jumped up off the piano bench, nearly tipping it over in her haste.

"Quinn," she squeaked out.

"Treasure Trail, we need to talk."

Rachel smoothed her hands over her (hideous) skirt—really, who the hell would put a bow right in the front like that?—squared her shoulders and raised her chin defiantly. Typical Berry. "You really need to work on more creative nicknames, Quinn. You're becoming redundant."

"Just shut up and listen, hook nose" Rachel let out an indignant little huff and touched her nose self-consciously, but Quinn didn't even pause. "I don't appreciate you running and crying to that little band of whiny losers you suddenly have at your beck and call. If you have something to say to me, then say it to my face."

"Excuse me?"

"There's no excuse for you," Quinn snarked back with a scowl.

Rachel rolled her eyes dramatically at that, crossing her arms over her argyle clad chest. "So original, Quinn. Again, you need better material," and Santana silently agreed. Fabray  _really_  needed to work on improving those lame-ass insults. "But I digress. I have  _no_ idea what you're talking about."

Quinn growled—actually, no shitting growled, like a little kitty cat or something, complete with balled-up fists, and—was that a foot stomp?  _Dios_ , Santana really should have been recording this shit—it was fucking hilarious.

"I'm talking about the little eye rolls and bitchy looks that Hummel keeps giving me, and Mercedes acting all  _disappointed_  by my  _behavior_ , and your big oaf of a boyfriend calling me a bitch."

Rachel's eyes widened comically, and her arms fell limply to her sides. "Finn said that?"

Now Quinn was crossing  _her_ arms, and—Santana squinted to get a better look— _yep_ , totally pouting. "Like you didn't go all damsel in distress and beg your man-child to defend your honor." Wow, complete with whiny little voice and everything.

"Honestly, no. Not this time," Rachel admitted with a shrug. "It's never really worked in the past so I figured, why bother?"

Santana almost felt sorry for the girl.  _Almost._ Maybe she didn't particularly like Berry much, but  _damn_ , Finnessa was a fucking moron. He sucked at defending his girlfriend, and honestly,  _nobody_  needed to be defended more than Berry. The girl had a real knack for pissing everyone off. Santana could almost respect her for that. Again,  _almost._

Quinn bit her lip and looked down at the floor. "Oh, well, he did kind of screw it up anyway," she quietly confessed, then her gaze lifted and the head bitch was back in force. "Just tell them all to stay out of my way. That goes for you too, Gizmo."

Quinn spun on her heel and started to walk away, but Rachel's voice stopped her. "You know Quinn, I find it interesting that you keep telling me to stay away, yet you're always the one to initiate these little confrontations. Just what are you trying to prove?"

_Uh, oh. Bad move Berry._

Santana perked up in her seat as she watched Quinn swing back around and viciously stalk over to Rachel, backing her up against the piano and generally invading her personal space. "I don't need to  _prove_  anything. I'm just making sure you remember your place," she punctuated with a finger poke to Rachel's shoulder.

"Then you're wasting your time, Quinn," Rachel said with confidence, calmly pushing Quinn's hand away. "I know what everyone at this school thinks of me, but it doesn't matter. I know exactly who I am and what I want. And I'm not afraid to go after it." Rachel took a step forward, and Quinn failed to step back, bringing them literally nose-to-nose. Quinn seemed to sway forward just a breath and, for a few tension-filled seconds, Santana actually thought they were about to start making out again. Then Rachel twisted away, haughtily asking, "Can you say the same?" before picking up her bag and executing a perfect diva storm-out.

Quinn was left standing alone on the stage, still staring at the piano and looking a little flustered. Rachel was already gone when she finally reacted, swinging around toward the backstage exit and yelling, "I know who I am! I'm Quinn freaking Fabray, head bitch. And you're…" she trailed off, visibly struggling for a word. "Annoying," she finished lamely, this time with a legitimate foot stomp. "I hate her. I do," she muttered to herself, then slapped a hand down onto the lid of the piano. "Damn it!"

Quinn's attempt at a storm-out, once again completely sucked. Berry was dramatic at least, entertaining even. Quinn just stomped around like a spoiled two-year-old who didn't get her way. Santana relaxed back into her seat, laughing quietly until she heard Mercedes say, "Oh, no, she didn't."

"Oh, she  _so_  did," Kurt joined in, and Santana whipped around to see the duo sitting right behind her, along with Brittany. She hadn't even noticed any of them follow her inside.

"When did you bitches get here?"

"Pretty much right after you," Kurt answered. "It's clear those two have some serious issues."

Santana scoffed, "You think? Q's  _so_  fuckin' pressed it's pathetic," she muttered carelessly.

"Okay, that's the second time you've called her that, Santana," Kurt pointed out. "Care to enlighten the rest of the class?"

She rolled her eyes at the boy. "Not really, Queer Eye."

"San's talking about Quinn's lemonade," Brittany chimed in.

Mercedes and Kurt both looked at Brittany in utter bewilderment and echoed, "Huh?"

Brittany shot them both look that clearly said they were missing the obvious, and explained, "Her lemons are all pressed and Rachel needs to totally squeeze her so she'll get juicy and not be tight anymore."

" _Uptight_ , B," Santana corrected hurriedly, cringing at just how gross Brittany managed to make that all sound. As much as she lov— _liked_ the girl, sometimes she seriously wondered what went on in that pretty, blonde head of hers.

Mercedes frowned. "Lemons?"

"Juicy?" Kurt looked a little green.

"Ay Dios mio!" Santana threw her hands up in frustration _._ "It means she's a repressed lesbian, okay? And she's had the hots for Berry since freshman year," she snapped.

"Eighth grade," Brittany corrected sagely.

"Like you both didn't know that already," Santana finished, ignoring Brittany's comment.

" _I_  didn't," Mercedes insisted, actually looking a little skeptical still, even though Santana was pretty sure Kurt had probably figured it out for himself a while ago and would have wasted no time sharing his theories with his fag-hag.

"Oh, please, you thought  _girlfriend_  here," Santana nodded in Kurt's direction, "was into you last year. Buy a freakin' clue!"

"You're gonna buy my fist in your face if you don't ease up off the insults, _Satan_."

Really, like she'd never been called that before. "Bring it on,  _Precious_."

"Oh, it's on," Mercedes growled, jumping up, and Santana immediately bounced up too, ready to smack a bitch. Between Brittany's love-fest with her new rolling toy-boy and Puck's wandering eyes and lips, she was itching for a good fight. Mercedes may be on the extra-large side, but she was soft. Santana could totally take her down.

Kurt stood, putting a restraining hand on the girls' shoulders, "Easy ladies. Let's not fight amongst ourselves. We have more important battles to wage."

Santana glared at him, not liking the sound of that one little bit. "What battles?"

He smiled slyly, arching his eyebrow. "Quinn and Rachel in all their repressed glory, of course."

"Oh, hell no," she vowed. "Whatever you've got cooking in that rainbow-colored brain of yours, you can just leave me out of it."

Mercedes nodded in agreement. "Yeah Kurt, you know I love you, but I ain't about to be getting' all up in their business. I mean, it's  _Rachel_. And  _Quinn_. That's a level of crazy and scary I don't wanna be messin' with."

"Normally I would agree with you, Mercedes, but I fear this little drama has the unfortunate potential to tear apart glee club. It's our duty to ease those two into a mutual understanding," he rationalized.

Okay, it was official. The boy had lost his flaming mind. "You want drama? Try dragging Sister Christian out of her deep, dark closet and see what happens."

"I know it's a painful step to take, but lying to oneself is more damaging in the long run," Kurt said with a certain amount of self-superiority that never failed to piss Santana off. No wonder he and Berry had gone all bosom-buddy lately; they were both so fucking self-righteous and arrogant.

"I don't even think you really give a crap about Q or Berry—you just don't want to be the only gay kid out of the closet at McKinley," she accused him. He'd gotten spoiled at that pansy-ass private school with all the dapper Dans running around being all sensitive and girly.

"Hey, now," Mercedes started to defend, but Kurt placed a calming hand on her arm and met Santana's cold glare head on.

"You're wrong. I actually  _do_  care about both of them, which is more than I can say for you, Santana. You've been nothing but cruel to Rachel, and I'm sure you only followed Quinn in here hoping for fresh dirt to use against her."

Santana sneered at the boy, even though he was mostly right about everything. Didn't mean she had to admit to it. This whole conversation was so not worth her time. "Whatever. I'm out of here," she glanced down at Brittany. "Come on, B."

Brittany bit her lip and looked up at Santana sadly before shaking her head. "No, San. I want to help them. Quinn and Rachel are cute together. And really hot. I think they could make each other happy. They're both always so sad now."

Santana closed her eyes, took a deep breath and counted to ten slowly. Yeah, Quinn was delusional if she really believed she was straight.  _Hello_ , locker room subtlety fail. Blondie liked to check out the tits and ass. Santana had known that for years, but she was pretty damn sure Berry was driving stick.

"Brit, they're not sad, okay? Berry's all dopey in love with Frankenteen and Quinn's with the Bieber clone. You know, their  _boyfriends_ ," she stressed bitterly, thinking about Artie as she said it.

Hurt flashed in Brittany's eyes, and Santana wanted to kick herself for putting that hang-dog look on her best friend's face. "Maybe they just have boyfriends because they're too scared to be with the person they really want."

Santana felt her face flame at the veiled accusation, and she glanced over at Kurt and Mercedes to see them both avoiding eye contact and trying to play nonchalant, which only pissed her off more. She did not need this. She frowned at Brittany, "Fine. Stay and play gay cupid for all I care, just don't come crying to me when it blows up in your face."

She left them with a swish of her cheerio skirt and headed for her first period class, not giving a damn that Brittany suddenly wanted to help start a lesbian matchmaking service or something. Jesus, first she'd wanted to sing that stupid song in glee, and now this! Like getting Juno and Man Hands together would be all romantic and shit. Please, it was high school in Lima fucking Ohio. They'd be crucified. Well, Berry was kind of used to it, but Quinn would never be able to deal. Even if she  _had_  bounced back from having a damn baby with no repercussions—seriously, had everyone in this fucking school just forgotten it ever happened? Hell, Saint Fabray could probably murder someone and still come out smelling like roses. She probably  _would_  be able to pull off being an out and proud lesbian and still keep her reputation intact.

Santana came to a grinding stop in the middle of the hallway at the realization. Quinn would either be a fucking hero or be crushed down to a zero once and for all. Which meant that Santana could be back on top of the pyramid, or…something far better. It was kind of a win-win for her. No matter what happened, the ensuing chaos was bound to be fucking epic. She grinned and strutted into class, a bounce back in her step. She'd track down Hummel at lunch and tell him she was in, then sit back and watch it all blow sky high.


	7. Straighter Than Straight

**Straighter Than Straight**

Rachel managed to make it out of the auditorium on the strength of her righteous indignation, but once she was clear of Quinn Fabray, her adrenaline rapidly declined and she began to tremble. She ducked into the nearest bathroom and sagged against the wall, taking deep breaths and willing her stomach to stop churning. The confrontation with Quinn hadn't been entirely unexpected. She'd made it clear from her behavior yesterday that whatever truce they'd previously been existing under was at an end. Rachel had been sure to bring three extra outfits to school today, fully prepared for multiple slushie attacks. She stood in front of her mirror for fifteen minutes this morning repeating every horrible name that Quinn had ever called her, preparing herself to remain unaffected when she heard them come tumbling callously out of the head cheerio's spiteful mouth.

What she hadn't been prepared for, however, was that moment when Quinn had pressed her back against the piano with a fiery intensity burning in those hazel eyes that Rachel had never before seen. And she certainly hadn't expected to become so…aroused by it. She closed her eyes as she recalled the insane urge to touch Quinn; the boldness that had Rachel actually taking a step closer and baiting her, almost daring her to… _what_? Kiss her again? What had she even been  _thinking_?

This was Quinn Fabray—straighter-than-straight, Queen of McKinley, grudge-holder extraordinaire—and Rachel had just managed to give the girl yet another reason to make her life miserable. She made her way to the sink and turned on the faucet, letting the water run icy cold before splashing some on her heated face. She met her own eyes in the mirror and was shocked to see how flushed her skin appeared. When had she gotten so lost? She'd told Quinn that she knew who she was and what she wanted, and a year ago, that had been completely true. But now? She wasn't certain  _what_ she really wanted anymore, and it terrified her.

Rachel was supposed to be happy. She had Finn back, she actually had a real friend in Kurt, she was getting along with Mercedes, and glee club was coming together nicely for Regionals. Life should be perfect. She was  _not_  supposed to be having inappropriate thoughts about another girl, and especially not Quinn Fabray.

No, this was unacceptable. She would not become a statistic—another gay child raised by gay parents. She was Rachel Berry, future Broadway star. This little bump in the road would not throw her off course. She would get her EGOT, her leading man, and the adorable Jewish children all before she turned thirty, and one bitchy, blonde cheerleader would not make her alter her plan. With that decided, she fixed her hair, plastered a smile on her face, and hurried off to first period before the late bell rang. She had a perfect attendance record to maintain after all.

Chemistry class kept her mind occupied with formulas and compositions, and thankfully away from thoughts of that other kind of chemistry that she didn't want to acknowledge. By the time the first lunch bell rang, Rachel had put the morning's incident behind her, and to her relief, she even remained slushie free. She stopped by her locker and put away her morning books, lingering to wait for Finn as had become her habit.

He'd been extremely quiet when he'd driven her home yesterday, and not in his typical, only-pretending-to-listen way. To be fair, her own surly mood may have contributed to the silence between them. After walking her out of glee, Finn had handed her his keys and sent her off to wait in his car while he'd run back in to talk to Coach Beiste about something. She'd tried not to be annoyed by his thoughtlessness, but after the day she'd had, her irritation had been inevitable. When they'd arrived at her house, he'd given her a quick peck on her cheek and told her he wouldn't be able to pick her up in the morning because he had an early basketball practice. She hadn't spoken with him since then.

As she watched her boyfriend approach now, Rachel recalled her confrontation with Quinn and suddenly realized that sometime between yesterday afternoon and early this morning, Finn must have had his own confrontation with the cheerleader. She felt a shiver of apprehension race down her spine at the thought, but refused to give it much credence. Instead, she smiled adoringly and reached for his hand, weaving her fingers into his. "Hi, baby. Are you ready for lunch?"

Finn began to fidget, eyes darting down the hall and away from Rachel. "Actually, I'm gonna skip it today. I told Sam I'd work out with him."

Her smile fell and her uneasiness grew. Finn  _never_  skipped lunch (the boy was a veritable bottomless pit) and he was acting…twitchy. "You really shouldn't skip meals, Finn. A healthy diet is just as important to good fitness as exercise," she advised with as much detachment as she could summon under the circumstances.

"I'll grab something after," he promised, still not meeting her eyes as he let go of her hand.

Obviously, he didn't  _want_  to spend his lunch break with her today. Annoyance and hurt warred within her—hurt winning out as it always did—but she knew that expressing either of those emotions in this instance would only put Finn on the defensive. When they'd decided to give their relationship a second (or third) chance, Rachel had made a resolution to be less…well,  _clingy_ , for lack of a better adjective, so she decided to take the high road and give Finn his space—for now.

"Well, I suppose I'll just have to settle for Kurt and Mercedes today," and if the (not so) subtle inflection in her voice effectively relayed her disappointment and caused a modicum of guilt in her boyfriend, she wouldn't classify as manipulation, per se. She offered him a sad little smile. "I'll see you later?"

"Yeah, later." He took a half-step away before he hesitated, his brows dropping together in concentration. "Hey, Rach?"

"Yes?" she asked hopefully, certain he was about to apologize profusely and offer to accompany her to the cafeteria.

His eyes were fastened to the wall behind her now. "If I wasn't playing football or basketball anymore, you'd be okay with that, right?

The last traces of the smile she'd been clinging to disappeared and she reached out to curl her fingers over his arm in a supportive gesture. "Did something happen? Did Coach Beiste kick you off the team again?"

Finn finally met her gaze with a frown. "No. But if I was just in glee, and you know, not popular, you wouldn't break up with me?"

Rachel crossed her arms and gaped at him. "Well this is déjà vu," she muttered tetchily. "I believe that we had a variation of this conversation at the start of the school year in which I informed you that I was actually happier with us  _both_ being unpopular. You were adamantly opposed to my position on the matter, if you recall, and thought that I was attempting to control you."

Finn rubbed a hand over the back of neck, brows furrowed once again into the blank look that he wore so well. "So wait, I'm confused. Was that a  _yes_  or a  _no_?"

"No, Finn," she enunciated carefully. "I would not break up with you for being unpopular, even if you were slushied between every class and thrown into a dumpster every day." Frankly, she was insulted that he would even broach this subject with her again. "Where is this even coming from? Did something happen that you aren't telling me about?" She gasped as the penny finally dropped. "Did Quinn say something to make you doubt my commitment?

His eyes shifted again—floor, lockers, ceiling—it really was quite maddening. "Huh? Quinn? Why would you think that?"

Rachel huffed, "Apart from the fact that you are refusing to make eye contact with me _—_ which is a dead giveaway that you are lying, Finn Hudson _—_ Quinn informed me that you called her a rather degrading, although sadly appropriate name."

And that finally snapped his eyes back onto hers. "You talked to Quinn?" he asked incredulously.

Rachel was the one to avert her eyes now, fighting down a blush as her mind raced over those tense moments next to the piano. " _Talk_  implies a level of civility that we haven't managed to achieve as of yet. I would say that we exchanged words,"  _and very nearly another kiss because Quinn Fabray is absolutely gorgeous when she's angry and I found myself helplessly staring at her lips and wanting to just lick her—oh my God—stop it!_

Rachel blew out a shuddering breath and chewed on her lower lip absently, forcing her traitorous thoughts into submission. She looked up at Finn and reached out to clasp his hand once again. "Did you really attempt to defend my honor?" she wanted to know.

He grinned for the first time since their conversation had started and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Well, yeah. You're my girlfriend, Rachel. I know I don't always say or do the right thing at the right time, but I really love you," he vowed with complete sincerity.

Her stomach flipped, and not in the warm, pleasant way it usually did when Finn said those words to her. She  _hated_  feeling guilty. It was ridiculous, really, because she hadn't done anything wrong. A few wayward thoughts did not constitute cheating. She  _did_ love Finn, so she told him, "I love you, too," and meant it. She smiled and moved her free hand up to cup his cheek. He grinned back, his face free of all worry once again, and bent down to brush his lips over hers in a sweet, chaste kiss.

"I can tell Sam to get another spotter," he rumbled against her temple, granting her exactly what she had wanted at the start of this strange encounter, but that pesky little sliver of guilt was niggling at her again.

"No, you should go. You made a commitment and you shouldn't break it," she told him, silently promising to follow her own advice.

He pulled her up and into another kiss, this one far less chaste, and she let herself respond. When he finally released her from his embrace, he was smiling widely. "You're the best, Rach. I'll see you later," he called back as he set off toward the weight room.

Rachel raised her hand in a half-hearted little wave. She certainly didn't feel like the best of anything at the moment. Sighing, she made her way to the cafeteria alone, vigilantly examining every jock and cheerleader she passed for potential slushie cups aimed in her direction. She really liked the sweater she was wearing today.

She caught sight of Kurt and Mercedes sitting together and headed in their direction. They both greeted her with a friendly smile when she slid into the space across from them, and it made her unfathomably happy to feel that she was actually accepted by them.

"Hey, girl," Mercedes greeted warmly.

"Hello, Mercedes...Kurt. I trust that the day has been kind to you both thus far."

Mercedes rolled her eyes at the comment, and Kurt smiled and shook his head. "Sweetie, you really need to put away the thesaurus and loosen up. It's high school."

"You're one to talk. You're almost as bad as she is," Mercedes teased, playfully bumping her shoulder into his. Kurt gasped, feigning indignation, and Rachel's smile widened as she listened to the two banter back and forth. She laughed along with them (and  _God_  was it nice to be  _in_ on the jokes instead of the  _object_  of them) until Mercedes and Kurt both abruptly stopped talking and Rachel felt an oppressive presence settle onto the bench beside her. She turned to her left and saw a smug Santana Lopez leaning forward on arms crossed over the table top and looking right at her.

Santana tilted her head and grinned, voice dripping with honey. "Hey, Berry."

"Uh, hi?" Rachel managed, completely caught off guard by the cheerleader's appearance. Santana hated her and the feeling was not entirely unrequited.

"Aren't you at the wrong table?" Kurt asked sharply.

"Yeah, hellspawn sit over there," Mercedes jerked a thumb in the direction of the table across the cafeteria occupied by the jocks and cheerios. Rachel's gaze followed the action but her breath caught when she saw Quinn sitting at the table in question and staring straight at them with an unhappy frown marring her perfect features. Rachel guiltily averted her eyes.

"I'll be sure to tell Q you said that," Santana laughed. A nasty little smirk twisted her mouth and she wiggled her fingers at Quinn in a mocking salute, and Rachel couldn't help but glance back over to see the reaction. Quinn sneered at her (or perhaps Santana) before turning away and beginning a conversation with another cheerio.

Mercedes looked a little chagrined by her unintentional insult to Quinn, and she crossed her arms and glared at Santana. "What do you want?"

The cheerleader shrugged, smirk still in place. "What? I can't decide to have lunch with you losers?"

"Generally,  _no,_ " Kurt snootily informed her. "Not when you insult us at every opportunity."

"Oh, it's not  _every_  opportunity. You'd be surprised how many great insults I let slide."

"Why don't you just slide right on out of here," Mercedes growled, pressing her palms flat on the table and leaning forward. Rachel idly wondered if the two might actually come to blows right here in the cafeteria. She could only hope they wouldn't resort to throwing food (because again, she  _really_  liked her sweater.)

Santana ignored the comment, turning back to Rachel and letting her smirk melt into an almost friendly smile. "I'm liking the waves, Berry," she said as she casually fingered a few locks of Rachel's hair, punctuating the action with a wink and a softly whispered, "Sexy."

Rachel jerked back a little, stunned by the action. "I…" she started, only to find herself completely speechless. Was Santana  _flirting_ with her? Her eyes unconsciously drifted past her and zeroed in on Quinn, who was glaring in their general direction once again. Rachel snapped her gaze away and swallowed heavily, wondering when her life had become so surreal. Licking her lips nervously, she met Santana's dark gaze and tried again. "Why are you complimenting me?"

Santana shrugged. "Felt like it." And just like that, she dismissed Rachel and turned her attention back across the table to Kurt and Mercedes, who both looked completely bewildered—and Rachel was right there with them, especially when Santana announced, "I changed my mind. I'm in."

Now Rachel was not so completely befuddled as to not notice her friends exchange matching wide-eyed looks of panic, so of course, her curiosity demanded that she ask, " _In_  what?"

"Nothing!" Kurt all but shrieked, shaking his head and plastering on a fake smile. "Just a…project…for glee."

Suspicion fully aroused—because  _project for glee_ was either code for some nefarious scheme (how could it be anything else if Santana Lopez was involved?) or they really were planning something to present in glee (and Rachel  _would not_ be excluded from any potential musical alliances that might showcase her considerable talent)—she was determined to discover the secret.

"What kind of project? Are you working on something for Regionals? Because as Captain, I feel it's imperative that I…"

"Chill, Berry," Santana cut her off impatiently. "I just decided to help Kurtsie pick out his song for this week's assignment—no need to go all control freak on us," she taunted, although far less cruelly than was strictly normal for her.

"Really?" Rachel asked Kurt, not quite believing that  _he_  would seek out  _Santana_  for help. She felt somewhat wounded that he hadn't come to her for assistance when her musical repertoire was vastly superior to the cheerleader's.

Kurt sighed, glancing over to Mercedes, with whom he shared a brief, inscrutable look, before nodding. "I felt Santana's musical tastes might be appropriately experimental,'" he finished, his fingers making air quotes as if that were somehow more fashionable than actually saying  _quote unquote_ _—_ clearly Quinn was delusional on that point.

"Yeah, just wait 'til you hear him rap," Santana said straight-faced, and Mercedes choked back a snort of laughter.

The visual was horrifying. "Please tell me she's joking," Rachel demanded.

"She is," Kurt was quick to assure her, but then he seemed to rethink his words and frowned a little, muttering, "I hope."

"Oh, I think you'll like what I have in mind," Santana promised with a sly smile, and the subtle undertone in the comment made Rachel suddenly feel as though she was missing something vital. The feeling only grew stronger when she noticed Kurt and Mercedes sharing some silent communication with their eyes, expressions moving from worried to accepting.

"Santana!" Rachel jumped at Quinn's voice, and all four of the them looked up to see the girl standing at the end of their table, hands on her hips and looking like she was ready to murder someone. "I need to talk to you."

And if Rachel's heart was beating a little faster, it was only because she'd been surprised by the girl's sudden appearance, and certainly not because those hazel eyes were flashing in a way that inflamed her very improper— _unwanted_ —urges.

"In a minute, Q," Santana dismissed her captain, pointedly glancing back to Rachel with a smile.

"Now," Quinn barked, her open palm coming down on the table top with enough force to rattle the lunch trays. Everyone flinched in surprise, except Santana who just rolled her eyes.

"Oh, take the stick out, Mother Mary."

Rachel watched the muscles twitch in Quinn's cheek as she struggled to maintain her composure. Quinn glanced at Mercedes and Kurt with a look of regret moving quickly over her features before her gaze locked onto Rachel and sparked with some emotion that she simply couldn't name. Quinn jerked her hands away form the table, stiffened her posture, growled, 'hallway, five minutes or I'm dragging you out by your weave," and marched out of the cafeteria.

Santana didn't seem fazed by any of it. She winked at Kurt and stood smoothly from her seat with a careless, "later, Hummel," as she sashayed away in the direction that Quinn had disappeared.

"What just happened?" Rachel wanted to know.

Kurt nervously glanced at Mercedes again, but the girl just raised her brows and gave him a pointed look. Kurt finally shrugged, "Probably just some cheerio drama. Nothing to concern yourself over."

"I'm not concerned," she lied, absently chewing on her bottom lip as her gaze lingered on the cafeteria doors where the two cheerleaders had disappeared.

Had she looked at her two companions, she would have seen their knowing smiles.


	8. A Foolish Consistency

**A Foolish Consistency**

Despite the fact that Quinn and Rachel both took advanced placement classes, their schedules junior year were mercifully conflicting. They shared only one class, and of course, glee, which met Mondays and Fridays during seventh period, Wednesdays after school, and Thursday mornings. American Literature met every day during sixth period, and it so happened that both Santana and Tina also took the class. The room, like so many at McKinley, was populated with lab-style double desks, so it was only natural that Santana usually occupied the seat next to Quinn _—_ while it was true that they were often at odds, sitting together was the lesser of all evils. Tina typically sat next to Rachel _—_ because even if the two weren't precisely the closest of friends, Tina was usually able to tolerate small doses of Rachel Berry without complaint.

So when Santana walked into class on Tuesday and fell into the chair next to Rachel, Quinn wanted to strangle her. Watching the smug bitch carelessly insinuate herself at the diva table (as Quinn had silently dubbed it) during lunch was enough to put her on edge, but  _this_ _—_ this was freaking unbearable. Quinn just knew that Santana was plotting to tumble her off the top of the pyramid, and Puck's damned party had given her all the ammunition she needed. The biting little comments to Quinn and sudden (fake) friendly overtures to Berry were designed to get a rise out of Quinn, and  _damn it_ _—_ it was working too well.

Confronting Santana at lunch had been a mistake, but watching the four of them laughing and smiling together had her imagining the worst. Santana claimed to have been talking to Kurt about a song, but Quinn didn't believe that story for a minute. God only knows what Santana might have let slip (true or not) and the last thing Quinn wanted was to have the crazy midget corner her in a crowded hallway spewing out some long winded motivational speech about rainbows and pride and the ACLU. She'd do it too—the girl had no boundaries and no filter! The experience would be horrifying. So instead, Quinn had made an ass of herself in front of half of the cafeteria in an attempt to get Santana back under control, which obviously hadn't worked at all.

At least Berry seemed to be equally flustered by the sudden shift in Santana's behavior. She'd been nervous and jumpy at lunch, and now she was doing a good impression of a scared rabbit, back straight and utterly still in her chair, glancing nervously to her left. Quinn grit her teeth and gripped the edge of the desk as she seriously considered throwing her text book at Santana's head.

"C-can I s-sit here?" Tina stuttered, pulling Quinn's attention away from the pair two rows up. The Asian girl had dropped the stammering act last year, so she could only presume its reappearance was genuine and courtesy of Quinn's chronic bitchiness. She forced her expression to soften into a friendly smile, and gestured to the empty chair.

"Be my guest."

Tina smiled and settled next to Quinn with a quiet, "thanks." The girl opened her notebook and fiddled with her pen for a moment, then glanced at Quinn uncertainly. "Doesn't Santana usually sit here?" she finally asked.

Quinn raised her eyebrow, giving the girl her best  _did-you-really-just-ask-me-that_  look.

Tina blushed and shook her head. "I mean, I know she does, obviously, because I sit next to Rachel. Which I would have done today, except I can't. Not that I wouldn't sit next to you otherwise, it's just…"

"Tina. It's okay. I don't bite, you know," Quinn joked, trying to ease the girl's nerves. Was she really so intimidating? Not that it was a bad thing exactly—she had worked kind of hard for the reputation—but after last year… Well, she'd just thought the kids in glee knew better than to believe the hype.

Tina grinned, her blush deepening. "I know you don't, but...well, things are a little weird right now. I mean, you're throwing slushies again and Santana's talking to Rachel..."

" _I_  didn't throw any slushies," Quinn hissed quietly. "Berry's just being a drama queen." It wasn't exactly a lie. Rachel was the  _queen_  of all drama queens.

"If you say so." Tina didn't look convinced, but she also didn't push the issue.

Quinn faced forward only to see that Santana  _was_  talking to Rachel…right now. And Rachel was half-smiling. What. The. Hell?

"What?" Tina questioned, and Quinn realized that she'd said that last part out loud.

"Ah, nothing. Just thought I'd lost my homework for a second."

"We didn't have any homework," Tina pointed out.

_Shit._

Quinn was really off her game, but luckily the bell saved her and Ms. Fischer called the class to order. The teacher scratched the name  _Ralph Waldo Emerson_ onto the white board, and a few students groaned. Quinn didn't blame them in the least—most of these old dead poets were totally boring—but she tried to concentrate on the lecture. Unfortunately, her attention kept drifting to the back of two brunette heads. Every time they drifted closer together, Quinn felt her stomach muscles clench in dread as she tried to determine whether or not the two were whispering to one another. Because it sort of looked like they were. Santana was turning in her chair, and…Oh God, they so totally were!

They were  _talking_  in soft voices with their faces close together and _—_ did Berry just giggle?

"So, we should probably discuss the quote before our time's up."

"Huh?" Quinn turned to Tina in confusion.

"The quote," the girl repeated, gesturing to the board.

Quinn looked up, and sure enough, there it was, scrawled in Ms. Fischer's messy handwriting.

' _A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines.'_ _¹_

"Oh, sorry," she mumbled sheepishly, feeling the tips of ears start to burn (which undoubtedly meant that her face probably matched her cheerio's uniform.)

Tina shrugged, "It's okay."

"Um, so are we supposed to, like, talk about what it means?"

"Wow, you really were out of it, weren't you?" Tina laughed, and Quinn looked away, which proved to be a bad idea because she was looking at  _them_  again, huddled close and obviously talking about the stupid quote exactly like they were supposed to be doing. Her seatmate followed her gaze, forehead scrunching up in concentration, then she looked at Quinn again with narrowed eyes. "If you two are planning to do something to Rachel…"

"God, not you, too," Quinn grumbled, shaking her head. "Since when do you all stick up for Berry."

"Rachel's my friend," Tina said with a frown. Quinn gave her  _the look_  until the girl amended, "Well, sort of."

" _Sort of_ ," Quinn scoffed sarcastically. "None of you really  _like_ her. You all just tolerate her in case you need her for something down the road. It's pathetic. She doesn't deserve that crap from people who claim to be her  _friends._ At least I'm honest about my feelings."

"You're not…" Tina started, then snapped her mouth shut as her eyes went wide, darting first to Rachel, then back to Quinn with a look of dawning comprehension that made the Quinn's stomach bottom out.

"Let's just do the assignment," she snapped. "The quote is crap. Consistency is never foolish. People shouldn't go around screwing with the status quo."

Tina didn't have a chance to respond because Ms. Fischer just happened to be walking past after telling the students their time was up, and Quinn hadn't bothered to keep her voice down. "That's a very simplistic opinion, Ms. Fabray," the teacher announced, drawing the attention of the entire class. Quinn sank down in her chair, wishing she could just disappear as the woman asked, "Would anyone like to offer a rebuttal?"

She should have seen it coming. There really was only one person who would actually be obnoxious enough to raise her hand and challenge the head cheerleader (even if Quinn  _had_  just blurted out the first thing that popped into her head without fully thinking it through first.)

Ms. Fischer scanned the entire classroom before finally (almost reluctantly) sighing, "Ms. Berry." Rachel sat up straight in her chair, continuing to face forward, thank God, so Quinn couldn't see the undoubtedly smug look on her face.

"Emerson was speaking to the need for every person to embrace their own individuality, even when it conflicts with beliefs that have long been held by the masses. Mindless conformity to preexisting customs will only stagnate society by preventing the introduction of those new ideas and differing opinions that allow for progress. In short…"

"Too late," Quinn muttered under her breath.

"To simply accept the status quo without question, which Quinn seems to advocate," Rachel twisted in her seat to directly address Quinn, "is a mistake made by small minded people."

Quinn's hand shot into the air, cutting off whatever stupid praise their teacher was probably about to give Rachel. "Ms. Fischer!"

"Ah, yes, Ms. Fabray?"

"Isn't Emerson basically encouraging all the radicals and non-conformists to disregard the laws and morals that society in general has accepted?" Quinn asked harshly.

"In a sense, but…"

"And doesn't that basically invite anyone to just do whatever they want without thinking about how it will affect the people around them? I mean, the rules are there for a reason. There has to be some consistency, some conformity, or everything will just fall apart," she finished with a sharp glare at the girl who just refused to ever shut up.

" _Some_ , Quinn, but not of the mindless variety." Rachel responded testily, her pointed look fully conveying that she classified Quinn in that  _mindless_  category. "Emerson wasn't promoting anarchy, just pushing for people to look inward first, decide for themselves if a principle is sound, and follow their hearts. If Rosa Parks had conformed to the rules, an entire race might have been forever relegated to the proverbial back of the bus."

"Preach," Santana said with a snap, flashing a smile at Rachel who had the audacity to grin widely right back at her.

All around the room, the sounds of hushed laughter burned Quinn's ears and she crossed her arms and glared at the two girls in front of her, knowing that her entire argument had basically been total crap. It's not like she wasn't aware that she was being completely irrational, but she just  _hated_  having Rachel Berry beat her at anything. Ms. Fischer moved the lesson along from that point, but Quinn barely listened. She was too busy thinking of ways to get back at the dwarf for making her humiliate herself in front of the entire class. She should never have told Azimio to lay off the slushies today—it figured that her stupid guilty conscious would end up biting her in the ass. She really needed to work on suppressing that a little more.

 

•••

"What the hell are you up to?" Quinn demanded when she cornered Santana that afternoon before cheerio's practice, gripping her forearm in a vice grip and spinning her away from her locker.

Santana dug the nails of her free hand into Quinn's wrist and broke out of her grasp, shoving her back a step and shifting into fight mode. "What the hell is your problem, Juno?"

Quinn pushed back. "Since when are you friends with RuPaul?"

"Woah, hold up, we're  _not_  friends!" Santana insisted.

"Then why are you sitting next to her in class now?" Quinn wanted to know.

"Are you seriously asking me this again? Let's just hit the repeat button and then skip forward to the place where you back the hell off!" She gave Quinn's shoulder another shove, and Quinn staggered back a step, crossing her arms defensively.

"You said you were talking to  _Kurt_  at lunch. Keep your story straight."

"I'm not gonna even walk through  _that_ wide open door," Santana snickered. "I'll say it slowly this time, since your blonde is showing. I sat next to Berry at lunch so I could talk to Hummel about his song for glee, then we  _all_  starting talking until a crazy-ass bitch interrupted us. I wanted to finish the damn conversation I was having with the midget, so I sat with her in class. Simple as that."

"You're lying," Quinn accused. Santana was typically smooth with her stories, but this one just didn't make any sense.

"Fine. I'm lying," she admitted flatly. "I really want to get under Berry's skirt so I can swipe her v-card just like I did with her boyfriend."

Quinn's mouth dropped open, her fists clenched so tightly that her fingernails were digging into her palms. The visual in her head was literally making her want to puke. "You…you…no…just  _no_."

"Please," Santana scoffed, "like I'd even go there." She turned and slammed her locker shut, then leaned in close to Quinn's face, "but just so you know, if I wanted to, I could so totally tap that," and she roughly pushed past Quinn on her way out.

"I hope you're in the mood to run suicides," she screamed at Santana's retreating back. Quinn sagged heavily against the row of lockers behind her, closing her eyes and running her hands over her hair. She really  _was_  losing her grip. Her damn emotions hadn't even been this all over the map when she'd been pregnant! It was all Berry's fault, with her cocky attitude and her annoying voice and her big mouth.

_No…don't think about her mouth…damn it!_

Opening her eyes, Quinn caught sight of three freshman cheerios gaping at her, and she glared at them. "Get to practice," she snapped and they scattered like mice. She really wished she could get Berry to react like that instead of always giving her grief at every opportunity.

"No, she has to be a freaking non-conformist," she muttered to herself, grabbing the equipment bag and heading to the gymnasium, intent on cracking the whip on her squad and venting some of her frustration. How did Rachel Berry always manage to do this to her?

Two hours of Sue Sylvester's patented brand of torture passed with Quinn channeling her inner bitch—okay, the outer bitch, too—really she was the whole bitch package. She followed through with her threat and had Santana doing crunches for every eye roll, lunges for every sneer, and suicides for every snide comment out of her mouth, and then delighted in digging her foot extra hard into the girl's back when she climbed to the top of the pyramid. Coach Sylvester almost had a prideful tear in her eye at the way her captain seemed to be channeling her.

But Santana was really only a substitute for Quinn's real target, and once practice was over, her thoughts came right back to Rachel Berry. The girl just didn't know when to quit. The taunts and teases weren't cutting it, and the slushies and dumpster dives never seemed break her spirit. Sometimes it seemed like Rachel could only take a hint if it was set to music.

_Wait a minute…_

An idea started to form, and once Quinn was home and showered, she booted up her laptop with a giddy feeling of anticipation. Berry was going to regret that little speech she made today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _¹Ralph Waldo Emerson, 'Self-Reliance,' Essays, First Series (1841, repr. 1847)_


	9. Drama Queen

**Drama Queen**

"Okay, guys, who wants to go first?" Mr. Schuester asked the assembled glee club Wednesday afternoon. Predictably, Rachel's hand shot up. Completely unexpectedly, Quinn's did too. Will's eyes widened, and he smiled. "Quinn, let's hear your song."

Rachel's head jerked around in surprise as she watched Quinn glide down the risers with a sway and a saucy grin. Kurt settled back in his seat, preparing himself for whatever she had in store. He hadn't really had a chance to fully organize with his fellow co-conspirators yet, but the little scene at lunch yesterday had seemed promising, and Rachel had been in a particularly good mood today, apparently having avoided breaking out her slushie emergency kit for two days running. Although today's pink and green plaid disaster could really have benefited from a dousing.

Quinn passed out her sheet music to the band, then sauntered back to the center of the room. She didn't offer any preface or explanation, but then she didn't really need to. The instant she opened her mouth to sing, it became all too clear.

" _You're such a drama queen._  
_You always make a big scene._  
_You never get what I mean._  
_It's just all about how you're feeling."_

The band joined in with an unmistakable Ska flavor and the trumpet riff wailed over a bouncy, upbeat rhythm as Quinn danced over and pointed at Rachel.

_"You're such a drama queen._  
_You always come off kinda mean._  
_You always gotta to intervene._  
_It's just all about how you're feeling."_

Quinn spun away, tucking her hands behind her back and swaying her hips as she rapidly fired off the lyrics.

_"Someone asks you to consider_  
_but you don't give them a chance._  
_You just want to get your point across_  
_and make 'em feel bad._  
_I'm asking you to step back_  
_and take a look around._  
_Cause all your negativity is bringing us down._  
_Make it seem like we're in battle_  
_and we wanna see you fail._  
_We just wanna move together_  
_we just want to move ahead._  
_Do you think that everything you say_  
_will simply be forgotten?_  
_We think that everything you said_  
_would make us feel so rotten._  
_Drama queen…"_

Objectively, Kurt had to admit the song was kind of catchy, and Quinn  _had_  picked a style of music that was completely out of her comfort zone, effectively completing the assignment Mr. Schue had given. Four months ago, he might have been laughing and thinking that someone had obviously written this song with Rachel in mind, but now he was just feeling really uncomfortable and horribly guilty.

He chanced a look at Rachel, and saw her sitting perfectly still with head down and eyes fastened unmoving to the floor. Finn sat next to her staring stupidly at Quinn, not even making a move to comfort his girlfriend.  _Idiot._  Glancing around the rest of the room proved that no one really knew how to react to Quinn's performance. With the exception of Brittany, who seemed content to bop along to anything, they were all shifting around uncomfortably, clearly trying to avoid looking at Rachel. Santana had her arms crossed, shaking her head in disbelief at Quinn's performance, and Puck just looked pissed. Yes, they had all thought those things about Rachel—and even voiced them from time to time—but never in such a premeditated, drawn out,  _humiliating_  way. He was suddenly rethinking the wisdom of the whole Quinn-Rachel thing.

_"Don't wanna understand your view, oh no._  
_Not gonna understand your view, oh no._  
_Overreaction ain't the thing to do._  
_You have to realize that we're fed up with you._  
_You're such a drama queen..."_

When the song finally came to an end, Brittany was the only one to clap. Mr. Schue just stood there with his mouth open like a useless buffoon, so nothing new on that front, and everyone else was frozen in place. Rachel choked back a single sob before she rushed out of the room. Kurt stared after her, his stomach twisting in sympathy for his new friend. Strangely enough, (or maybe not so much) he noticed that the first one of them to move at all was Quinn. She took two steps toward the door, almost like she was about to follow Rachel, before she stopped, wrapping her arms around her stomach and looking suddenly ashamed of herself as she stood chewing guiltily on her lower lip.

Mercedes kicked the back of Finn's chair. "Go after her, stupid." He lurched forward with a jerky nod and glared at Quinn as he walked past her. Kurt only hoped that his dopey stepbrother wouldn't make Rachel feel even worse, like he tended to do on most occasions. He considered following them both and making sure Rachel really was alright, but Mr. Schue finally woke up from his inaction (really, he couldn't have cut Quinn off after the first chorus?) and decided to act like a teacher.

"Quinn, that was completely inappropriate. I told you to stop with the negativity and you still intentionally picked a song that you knew would hurt Rachel's feelings. You need to go apologize to her."

She huffed out a breath, lifting her head in defiance. "But…"

" _Now_ , Quinn," he ordered, pointing at the door. "I don't want you to come back into this choir room until you've worked it out."

"Then I guess I won't be back," she shouted at him, stalking over to her chair and grabbing her bag before disappearing out the door.

"Ah, I think I should probably," Sam trailed off, gesturing after her girlfriend.

Mr. Schue sighed, "Go ahead."

 

•••

Fifteen minutes later, neither of the couples had returned to the choir room. Artie had hesitantly volunteered to perform his song, a fun version of " _You Are the Sunshine of My Life"_  by Stevie Wonder _,_  obviously dedicated to Brittany, and the mood of the remaining kids had lifted for a few minutes, only to crash again when the music ended and no one else wanted to sing. Mr. Schue dismissed them with a frustrated sigh, instructing them to be ready with their songs at the next meeting. Puck volunteered to give Artie a ride home, and Mike tagged along after them.

Kurt remained sitting next to Mercedes. "Well that was just awkward," he complained, brushing an errant hair back from his forehead.

The girl heaved a sigh and nodded. "Yeah, I'm starting to think you're right. We need do something drastic or Quinn's gonna rip Rachel to shreds and glee club will be done for good."

"Of course I …" Kurt stopped, realization dawning, and he turned his head to his left. "Ah, Tina? Don't you have somewhere to be?" he asked the Asian girl who was still perched on her chair and staring off into the empty space in front of her.

"Quinn likes Rachel, doesn't she?" she blurted out, finally looking over to Kurt. "Like…in a  _gay_  way."

"Duh!" Santana snorted from behind them.

"When did you figure it out?" Kurt asked Tina, genuinely curious now that yet another person had clued into the tension without any prompting from him.

"Yesterday in American Lit. Quinn spent half the class staring at Rachel and freaking out because she was sitting with Santana," the girl disclosed.

Kurt glanced back to cheerleader with brows raised. "You sat with Rachel again?"

"Willingly?"

"Mercedes, please," Kurt admonished with a frown.

She shrugged. "Sorry. I'm trying, but you know what they say about old habits."

"The nuns totally sleep in them," Brittany chimed in.

Santana leaned forward, hands braced against the back of Kurt's chair. "First thing you bitches need to realize is that Fabray is a total control freak. Worse than Berry. Mess with her perfect, little, neat and orderly world and she goes crazy. Me being nice to Mini Mouth, that's gonna fuck with her judgment—case in point, that over the top serenade we all had to suffer through," she reminded them with sarcasm. "She busted my ass in practice yesterday, too. She can't decide whether to be jealous or scared shitless that I'm gonna out her dirty little secret, and she's taking it out on Berry like she always does. It's funny as hell any way you cut it," she finished with a self-satisfied smirk and sat back in her seat.

Kurt narrowed his eyes. "We're not doing this for your personal amusement Santana. If that's why you agreed…"

"It's not, okay."

"Well, you certainly aren't doing it out of the goodness of your heart."

"Yeah, 'cause you don't have one," Mercedes needled.

"Yes, she does," Brittany defended, then looked over at Santana with a sad, little pout. "She's just really good at ignoring it."

Santana looked away, her face hard. "Look, I have my reasons for helping. That's all you need to know."

"Wait. Helping with what?" Tina asked, looking lost by the whole conversation.

Kurt flashed her his biggest smile. "Operation Cupid, of course." Because Quinn's little show of guilt, however small, added to what Tina and Santana had just told him were enough to recommit him to his prior course of action. He was convinced that Quinn just needed a big old push out of the closet to cure at least half of her anger issues. It was obvious that she was more passionate about Rachel than anything else in her life. She just didn't know how to express it properly.

"That's the lamest name ever," Santana mocked.

"We should call it Kitty." When they all turned to look at Brittany in confusion, she rolled her eyes. "You know, because Quinn wants to pet Rachel's pus…"

Santana quickly moved to slap her hand over Brittany's mouth, "Don't say it. I don't need that visual, B."

"Too late. Ew," Mercedes said with a shudder that Kurt wholeheartedly agreed with.

"We get it," he told Brittany as Santana released her.

"So you guys want to get them together? As in  _together_  together?" Tina clarified.

"Exactly," he said.

"You're all crazy," she accused.

"Like a fox," Kurt insisted.

"No, like a gay shark," Brittany corrected happily.

"Look, Tina, we're doing this with or without your help. You may choose to not participate, we only ask that you don't interfere."

Tina pressed her palms over her knees, tapping her fingers thoughtfully. "Okay, assuming we're actually right about Quinn's feelings, that doesn't change the fact that Rachel likes boys," she pointed out, much to Kurt's annoyance. She was totally bursting his little, gay bubble.

"Rachel's totally bilingual."

Mercedes choked out, "What?"

Santana bit her lip thoughtfully. "I think you mean bisexual, Brit."

"That too," she nodded.

"What makes you think that?" Tina asked skeptically.

"She told me."

"She did," Kurt squeaked excitedly.

"No way," Mercedes insisted.

"When did she tell you that?" he pushed, wanting his own suspicions about Rachel validated without actually having to broach the subject with the girl. They may be friends now, but he wasn't quite ready to hear all the details of her sexual fantasies. Listening to her go on about Finn was almost bearable—Kurt was attracted to boys after all—but he did not need to know which girls at McKinley got Rachel's motor humming.

"I'm not supposed to say," Brittany hedged.

"Uh, B, you kind of just did," Santana informed her gently.

"Besides, for this plan to work, we need full disclosure."

Brittany's head tilted, and she looked at Kurt like he was dense. "Well, yeah. How are they supposed to have sex if they don't take their clothes off?"

He shook his head. "Never mind that. You need to tell us  _everything_."

She looked at Santana uncertainly, and when the girl nodded back, Brittany took a breath and started talking. "Well, I just felt really bad when Finn broke up with her at Christmas, because it's supposed to be a happy time and Rachel was so sad. I wanted to make her feel better, so I went to her house with the fruit cake that Aunt Hilda always gives us that we end up throwing away 'cause it's super gross, and we hung out for a little while. I told her there were other dolphins in the lake. Like how I found Artie after…" she snapped her mouth closed and glanced at Santana again with eyes full of hurt. When the other girl looked away, Brittany faced forward again.

"Anyway, we just started talking about lady kisses and she admitted that she was curious if it was the same as kissing guys—it totally isn't. I asked her if she wanted to make out with me, because, you know, she's still on my  _to do_ list, but she said kissing just got her into trouble and she didn't want Finn or," she paused again, eyes darting back to Santana, "anyone else to find out and get mad."

"Ah, Brittany," Mercedes said gently, reaching out to pat the girl's knee reassuringly, "I think maybe Rachel was just letting you down easy."

Brittany shook her head in denial. "No, she was  _totally_  interested. I can always tell. She was really touchy and was doing this thing with her thumb on the back of my hand." She demonstrated with her own thumb, and grinned endearingly. "It felt really good. Plus, she always checks out my legs when we're changing for glee numbers. And Quinn's ass," she added after a beat. "Oh, and Santana's boobs, too."

Santana jerked straight up in her seat, scowling. "What? I kill the little perv."

Mercedes waved her hand dismissively. "Please, girl, she's probably just worried they're gonna spring a leak and drown us all."

Santana was lunging forward in a heartbeat, stopped only by Brittany's quick reflexes and strong grip around her waist. "I swear to God I'm gonna put your tater tot loving ass on the floor," she screamed as Kurt and Tina both moved to help hold her back.

"Stop it, Santana," Brittany said sharply, surprising them all with her authoritative tone, and all the fight seemed to go out of her counterpart.

Kurt straightened and fussed with his hair. He hated physical confrontations. "Ladies, can we please get back on track? We have been given important information that seems to support Rachel's potential reciprocation of Quinn's attraction. We need to get down to business. Tina, in or out?" he demanded.

She glanced around at them all, then sighed in resignation. "In."

"Wonderful," he clapped. "Let's formulate a plan of action, shall we?"

"Wait," Tina interrupted again, and Kurt sagged in annoyance. "Quinn kind of just humiliated Rachel via song in front of the entire glee club. I really don't think she's just going to get over that anytime soon.

"Leave Rachel to me," Kurt said. "If there's one thing I've learned, it's that she's very forgiving."

"Too forgiving sometimes," Mercedes agreed guiltily.

"Yes, well, I believe that if we can get Quinn to apologize…"

Santana snorted, "Good luck with that."

"I'll talk to Quinn," Mercedes volunteered. "I need to anyway. I kind of called her out on Monday and I think I might have made things worse. I mean, if she's really this messed up about liking girls, she's gonna need her friends to support her. Right?"

Kurt smiled and hugged his best friend. "You are amazing."

"God, would you two turn off the sap fest? You're making me nauseous."

He scowled at Santana. "You are a very bitter girl, Santana Lopez."

"Actually, she's kind of salty," Brittany told them.

Santana buried her head in her hands, mumbling "Ay, dios mio. Por favor, máteme ahora."

"That can be arranged," Kurt informed her, only to met with a one finger salute, but he hardly cared. He was too busy plotting ways to turn Quinn's repression into positive energy.

After their strategy session ended, Kurt texted Rachel to make sure that she was okay—not trusting Finn to have adequately taken care of her. When she failed to respond promptly, he tried Finn instead, thinking they were together somewhere, but the response was not encouraging. His stepbrother was apparently already home playing with his Xbox because Rachel told him she wanted to be alone. That boy just didn't understand his girlfriend at all.

Kurt drove over to the Berry house, after a minor detour, and rang the bell, waiting through the chimes until the door swung open to reveal a tall, black man with a warm smile. "Good afternoon, Mr. Berry."

"Kurt, I've told you call me Leroy," he admonished, even as he guided Kurt inside and took his coat.

One of the nicest surprises to come from his new friendship with Rachel was the introduction of her fathers into his life. While having Blaine to talk to and confide in had helped immensely, they were still contemporaries both struggling to make their own way in the world. Leroy and Hiram Berry had already triumphed over high school hell, colleges, graduate school (Leroy) and medical school (Hiram,) gay marriage and raising a child together in this homophobic little town. They were proving to be amazing role models (even if Hiram was a little high strung and Leroy spoiled his daughter rotten.)

"Sorry, Leroy. Is Rachel home?"

"She's been up in her room since  _Finn_  dropped her off," and the inflection spoke volumes about Leroy Berry's opinion of his daughter's boyfriend. "Did something bad happen at school?" The  _again_  was left unsaid, and Kurt felt his stomach churning for the second time today.

"You know my policy on disclosure," Kurt reminded the man. Rachel didn't want her dads to know every little detail of the bad things that were so often said or done to her. She told them about the incidents that really mattered, but she preferred not to worry them over what she deemed 'minor character building tribulations.' Kurt couldn't help but respect that.

Leroy sighed in defeat, knowing he'd have to wait for his daughter to confide in him when she was ready. "Go ahead upstairs. Maybe you can cheer her up."

"I intend to," he promised with a smile; a smile that quickly fell when he reached Rachel's door and heard Daniel Powter whining  _'you had a bad day.'_ Ugh, she could have at least picked a better soundtrack. He raised his fist and gave two quick raps on the door before he twisted the knob and walked in without waiting for an invitation.

Rachel was sprawled face down across the bed, clad in baggy sweat pants and a hoodie with left arm dangling over the edge. "I'm not hungry, daddy," she mumbled into the mattress.

Kurt hit the power button on her iHome to silence that god awful song. "And I'm not your daddy, sweetie."

Rachel shot up into a sitting position so fast it was almost comical, rubbing her tear streaked cheeks before self consciously attempting to straighten her rumpled hair. "Kurt, what are you doing here?"

He raised a brow, thinking that was fairly obvious, and wordlessly held up a bag from Andersons Market. Rachel's face lit up as she scurried off the bed.

"You didn't?"

Grinning cockily, he reached in and dramatically revealed the container of Peanut Butter Zig Zag. "I did."

Rachel squealed happily and bounced over to him, pulling into an enthusiastic one armed hug while simultaneously snatching the pint of her favorite dairy free ice cream right out of his hand. "You are amazing."

"I've only been telling you this for years," he joked, and she grinned back at him gratefully. Kurt held up the two spoons he'd stolen from her kitchen before heading up the stairs. "And you  _will_ be sharing that, Rachel Berry."

"Of course," she promised, accepting the offered utensil and then, after a moment of uncertain hesitation, kissing him swiftly on his cheek. "Thank you."

The two dug into the frozen treat, humming in appreciation at the first taste. Kurt had been astounded the first time he'd tried the vegan friendly soy based ice cream, certain that there was no way it could actually be as good as the 'real thing,' but he'd been so wrong. A few minutes passed in comfortable silence while they ate, until Rachel's spoon stilled, and she asked him in a small, shaky voice, "Am I…am I really that bad?"

Kurt gently pried the spoon and pint out of her hands and set them on her night stand, then took her hand with one of his as he used the other to tenderly lift her chin until he could look into her eyes. "No, sweetie, you're really not. Quinn was just trying to hurt you to build herself up. She's afraid…"

A choked little half laugh, half sob escaped, and she shook her head in denial. "No, she isn't. She was only saying what everyone thinks."

"That's not true." She pierced him with an incredulous look, and he sheepishly amended, "okay, maybe it's true sometimes," and pain flashed in her eyes before she closed them and attempted to pull away. "But that's not who you are all the time," he insisted, holding fast to her hand. "Rachel 'Gold Star' Berry may be insufferable on occasion, but  _you_ , Rachel Barbra, are so much more than your ego. True, the ego does tend to overshadow the sweet, intelligent girl underneath, but I am truly grateful that I am getting to see who you are when you're not greedy for applause. Because, sweetie, you're  _amazing_."

A tear slid down Rachel's cheek before she pulled him into a hug. "You're a really good friend, Kurt," she told him quietly.

"I know I am." He rubbed her back supportively, then pulled away, placing his hands on her shoulders and staring intently into her eyes. "Now, let's get down to business. We have a lot to accomplish before tomorrow morning."

"What are you talking about?" she asked with an adorably confused expression.

Sly grin curling his lips, Kurt teased, "You'll see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ah, dios mio. Por favor, máteme ahora._ \- Oh my God. Please kill me now.
> 
>  
> 
> **Song:**  
>  _"Drama Queen," by The Afterbeat (2005)_


	10. Try Harder

**Try Harder**

When Quinn arrived at school the next morning, she had already decided that she would be skipping glee, possibly for the rest of the year. Despite Mr. Schue's directive, she hadn't apologized to Rachel, and she wouldn't. It wasn't that she didn't realize she'd gone too far, because she'd figured that out the moment she'd seen the tears welling up in Rachel's wounded, dark eyes. Rachel had immediately dropped her head and let her hair fall forward to hide her face, just sitting there through the entire song and taking the humiliation that Quinn was dishing out. The looks on the other kids' faces had been full of disdain and second-hand embarrassment, and Quinn had a sudden understanding of what Rachel probably saw every time she stood up in front of them.

But it was that broken little sob at the end that had really twisted the knife. In all the years she'd known Rachel Berry, through all of the slushies thrown her way and the carelessly spoken insults, she'd never seen the girl break down in front of anyone that way, and even though that's exactly what Quinn had wanted when she'd stumbled across that song, the reality of it had tasted like ashes in her mouth. She couldn't apologize to Rachel because there were just no words that she could ever say to convey how much she truly regretted her actions—and even if the words existed, there was no reason for Rachel to ever believe them. She'd gone home last night, turned off her phone when Sam wouldn't stop calling and texting, and cried herself to sleep…again.

Finding Mercedes hanging out by her locker was not the best way to start her morning, and she very nearly spun around and headed in the opposite direction, but her head bitch reputation wouldn't allow her to run away. Stealing her jaw, she let the emotion bleed out of her expression as she approached the other girl. "Move it, Mercedes," she demanded as she reached out to spin the lock. "I'm really not in the mood."

"I'm sorry, Quinn."

Her hand stilled and she looked over at Mercedes, seeing nothing but sincerity. "Wait,  _you're_  sorry?" The girl nodded, and Quinn asked, "For what?"

"I was kind of a bitch to you the other day. You didn't deserve that."

"Yes, I did," Quinn blurted without thinking. She honestly didn't know where this apology was coming from, especially after the massive spectacle she'd made of herself yesterday. She figured Mercedes would just take the whole thing as more proof that Quinn wasn't worth her time.

The girl shrugged a shoulder, "Well, yeah, you kind of did, but I should have cut you some slack. I mean, I know underneath the whole bitchy persona, you're a really good person."

Quinn turned her face back to her open locker, squeezing her eyes shut and biting down hard on her lip in an effort to keep her sudden urge to start sobbing again under control. On a shaky breath, she rasped, "How can you even say that after yesterday?"

A warm hand closed around hers and drew her attention toward a gentle smile. " _This_  right here…this is how. You  _care_ , even though you don't want to admit it. You think it's a weakness, but it's not, Quinn."

Quinn stared at her wordlessly.  _Of course_ , it was a weakness. Her life had been so much easier before last year, before glee had forced her into relationships with people she'd never had to think twice about, before Puck and Finn and Rachel and Bet—the baby. Before the whole school had seen her at her weakest and most vulnerable. She couldn't— _wouldn't_ —go back to that place, but she also couldn't seem to get back to the girl who could just shut down all her emotions with the flick of a switch.

"I really screwed up, didn't I?" Quinn asked in a small voice, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah, but we all have at one time or another. It's not too late to fix it."

Quinn shook her head. "But it's Rachel. I can't…"  _admit that I was wrong._ She didn't want anyone to realize how she felt or how confused she was or how much it all  _hurt._

"It's okay," Mercedes promised, squeezing her hand and nodding, and Quinn almost believed that it might be. "Just come to glee."

"I can't. Mr. Schue said…"

"He said to come back when you worked it out."

"But we haven't," Quinn explained, thinking it should have been obvious.

Mercedes smiled and tugged Quinn's hand until they were moving in the direction of the choir room. "So you say you're sorry and it's worked out. Simple as that," she tossed out casually.

"It's really not," Quinn scoffed. She'd given Rachel so much unnecessary crap over the years that the girl would never forgive her.

"Trust me."

Mercedes pulled the head cheerio through the door and pushed her down into a chair in the front row between herself and Kurt. The boy glanced over at her with a cold expression. Quinn scanned the room and noticed that the entire glee club was already assembled with one notable exception, and Mr. Schue was sitting on a stool off to the side of the piano.

"Mercedes," Quinn hissed.

The girl leaned closer, never letting go of Quinn's hand. "We've negotiated an agreement on your behalf. You just need to sit here and behave and we'll all just forget it ever happened."

Quinn's head whipped back to Kurt who was smiling wickedly. He patted her knee. "Don't worry, she actually decided to go relatively easy on you."

A guitar riff screamed to life, and Quinn glanced over at the band, seeing Puck with his guitar, Artie on bass and Finn at the drum set grinning like a moron (which he was.) Quinn felt her stomach drop, knowing exactly what was coming and already grudgingly admitting that she probably (definitely) deserved it.

Rachel slithered into the room dressed in faded jeans and a tight black t-shirt with her hair teased sexily and her show face set to badass, rocker chick. Quinn wanted to disappear, to jump up and storm out of the room to avoid Rachel's musical retribution, but Mercedes and Kurt both had a hold of her and she knew she wasn't going anywhere.

_"It's a new day, but it all feels old._   
_It's a good life, that's what I'm told,_   
_but every day, it all just feels the same."_

Rachel didn't directly address Quinn, nor did she spare her more than a brief cool glance, but chose instead to work the room like the performer she was. She danced over to Puck and gave his shoulder a playful shove.

_"And my high school, it felt more to me,  
like a jail cell, a penitentiary,"_

She moved behind Finn and raked her fingers through his hair.

_"My time spent there it only made me see,"_

It was only then that Rachel turned and locked her eyes directly onto Quinn.

_"That I don't ever wanna be like you,_   
_I don't wanna do the things you do,_   
_I'm never gonna hear the words you say,_   
_and I don't ever wanna, I don't ever wanna be you._   
_Don't wanna be just like you._   
_What I'm sayin' is, this is the anthem,_   
_throw all your hands up._   
_You, don't wanna be you."_

Quinn sat there with her face flaming as the rest of the club joined in and starting dancing around the choir room, exactly like they  _hadn't_ done yesterday. Rachel's face was glowing with happiness in that way that only happened when she was singing just for the pure joy of the song. She danced over to Mr. Schue and tugged his hand until he was up and dancing, too.

" _Go to college, a university._  
Get a real job. That's what they said to me,  
but I could never, live the way they want.  
I'm gonna get by and just do my time.  
Out of step while they all get in line.  
 _I'm just a minor threat so pay no mind."_

Rachel dropped into Kurt's lap and his arms came around her waist as she focused her attention onto Quinn again.

_"Do you really wanna to be like them?_   
_Do you really wanna be another trend?_   
_Do you wanna be part of that crowd?_   
_'Cause I don't ever wanna, I don't ever wanna be you,"_

She bounced up again, pulling Kurt with her until they were dancing and singing together.

_"Don't wanna be just like you._   
_What I'm saying is, this is the anthem,_   
_throw all your hands up._   
_You, don't wanna be you."_

Santana and Brittany took over singing the bridge as they gyrated against one another.

_"Shake it once that's fine,_   
_Shake it twice that's okay._   
_Shake it three times,_   
_your playin' with yourself again."_

Quinn couldn't help smiling a little at the two of them, feeling her anger and embarrassment begrudgingly slip away from her. God, she was so bipolar lately. She should have realized Rachel would one up her in a battle of songs. The other girl had far more experience with it than she did, and of course, Rachel had chosen to venerate herself without cutting Quinn down…well, too badly, anyway.

_"You, don't wanna be just like you._   
_What I'm saying is, this is the anthem,_   
_throw all your hands up._   
_Y'all got to feel me._   
_Sing if you're with me._   
_You, don't wanna be just like you._   
_This is the anthem,_   
_throw all your hands up._   
_Y'all got to feel me._   
_Sing if you're with me._

_Another loser anthem._   
_Another loser anthem._   
_Another loser anthem."_

Mercedes grabbed Quinn's hand and squeezed even while she was singing along with everyone else. Kurt spun a laughing Rachel around at the end of the song, and everyone clapped and cheered. Quinn felt a reluctant smile pulling at her lips, even though she knew she should be pissed at being ambushed. Her improved mood took a nosedive the second Finn came over to pick his girlfriend up and landed a quick kiss to her lips. Quinn turned away and fell back against her chair with a scowl.

"Good job, Rachel. That's what I was talking about by getting out of your comfort zone."

Rachel folded her hands primly and inclined her head toward their teacher. "Thank you, Mr. Schuester. The experience was indeed very cathartic."

"Aaand, she's back," Santana drawled, earning a light slap on the shoulder from Brittany.

Before Rachel took a seat, she paused in front of Quinn with an unreadable expression on her face. Quinn nodded almost imperceptively in an attempt to convey that she was accepting her punishment gracefully, but she got caught up in that dark gaze, and her heart started to race. She unconsciously licked her lips and Rachel sucked in a quick little breath before breaking eye contact and stepping up the risers to sit beside Finn.

Mercedes reached over and gave Quinn's hand another squeeze, and when she turned to catch her friend's knowing smile, her chest tightened painfully and she started to panic, instinctively pulling away from the comfort of her touch. Quinn clenched her jaw and faced forward, curling her hand into a fist and sitting straighter in her chair. Next to her, Mercedes sighed.

Mr. Schue smiled at the club, inordinately (and undeservedly) pleased with his club's little moment of togetherness. "Okay, anyone up for the challenge of following Rachel?" he asked encouragingly. When no one seemed inclined to volunteer, he prompted, "Kurt? Mercedes?"

"Nah, we'll pass," Mercedes answered for both of them.

"I'm  _up_  for it," Puck bragged, voice full of innuendo. He swaggered to the front of the room, and pointed up to Rachel with a wink. "This one's for you, babe."

Quinn glanced over her shoulder to see a tense, frowning Finn, and a worried Rachel—trouble in paradise, part three. She couldn't help grinning a little.

" _Give 'em the old razzle dazzle. Razzle Dazzle 'em."_

Puck began to sing with a cocky smile, grabbing an empty chair and spinning it around on one leg.

" _Give 'em an act with lots of flash in it."_

He straddled the chair backwards and flashed some overdone 'jazz hands,' much to everyone's amusement.

_"And the reaction will be passionate._   
_Give 'em the old hocus pocus, bead and feather 'em._   
_How can they see with sequins in their eyes?"_

By now, he'd abandoned the chair and was moving around the room and flexing his muscles for the girls.

_"What if your hinges all are rusting?_   
_What if, in fact, you're just disgusting?_   
_Razzle dazzle 'em, and they'll never catch wise!"_

Watching Puck show off his half comical, half-sexual version of Billy Flynn—yes, she'd seen  _Chicago_ , the film version, anyway—was a real treat, and Quinn sank gratefully into the feeling of belonging that only came when she was in this room, laughing and singing with her glee family. They'd certainly been more of a family to her than her own at times. She turned to Mercedes, who was giggling happily at Puck as he strutted around the room, and felt a fresh surge of affection for the girl who'd invited her into her home when she'd had nothing and no one. On her other side was Kurt, who, admittedly, she wasn't that close to, but she respected him for being brave enough to be himself when so many people in this school were so desperately pretending to be anybody else.

Her eyes focused on Puck once again. Despite his man-whoring ways, he was a really sweet guy underneath the bravado—well, when he wanted to be, anyway. As much as she regretted their ill-fated fling, she would always have a soft spot in her heart for him born of the unbreakable bond that they shared. Just as she shared a different kind of bond with Brittany and Santana through the hell that was Sue Sylvester and her insane cheerios' regime. They were like the bitchy sisters that she alternately loved and loathed—a little more on the loathing side where Santana was concerned lately.

Before Quinn knew it, glee was over and everyone was heading off to their classes. Rachel stepped down the risers to her left and Quinn instinctively reached out a hand, lightly brushing the girl's wrist to gain her attention with the intention of trying to form some sort of apology. Rachel jerked her arm away, rubbing her free hand over the spot that Quinn had touched and staring blankly at her.

"I…"  _apologize. Come on Fabray, just say it!_ She sighed, "liked your song."

Rachel frowned and shook her head. "Try harder," she muttered and walked away, slipping under Finn's waiting arm when she reached him at the doorway. She didn't look back.

Quinn silently berated herself as she gathered her books to leave, noticing that Sam was hovering over her. She'd been mostly avoiding him the last two days for a reason, and she really wasn't ready to deal with it yet. Still, she forced a tight smile and a fairly bland, "hey."

He pursed his lips and shifted nervously. "Did you get my messages? I left, like, a dozen last night."

She pushed out an annoyed breath. "Yes, Sam. I just wasn't in the mood to talk," she answered testily.

"Oh." After an uncomfortable pause where they just stared at one another, he cautiously asked, "Are we okay?"

Quinn glanced away. Were they? She really didn't know the answer to that right now. She also didn't want to start burning any bridges she might need to use later. "Of course we are," she lied with her best cheerio-fake smile, trailing her hand over his chest and batting her lashes. "Walk me to class?" she asked, suppressing her cringe reflex. After all, they were headed in the same direction anyway.

 

 

• • •

By lunchtime, Quinn was in a better mood. She sat at her usual table next to Sam and across from Santana, half-listening to the girl take mean jabs at everyone who walked past them—a daily ritual since Brittany had hooked up with Artie and started eating lunch with him. Her gaze unconsciously drifted over to Kurt and Mercedes. It was just the two of them today which meant that Berry and Finn were off somewhere alone, probably making beautiful music together (and God what a horrible pun and she might just have to puke up her protein drink if she kept thinking about it.)

It was mid-afternoon when her day started to veer off course again. Brittany cornered her in the hallway after fifth period, wanting to know if she could borrow Quinn's calculus notes. "Ah, you don't take calculus, Brittany," Quinn reminded her. She'd been lucky to pass Algebra last year.

"Oh, yeah. Well, can I borrow your chemistry notes?"

"I'm in the advanced course," she explained, but when Brittany just continued to stare at her expectantly, she sighed and said, "sure. I'll give them to you at practice later. I really need to get to class."

She moved to her left to step around her friend, but Brittany stepped right, blocking her path. Quinn waited a beat, and Brittany just stared at her vacantly. Quinn stepped right, only to be blocked again.

"Brittany!" she growled in exasperation.

"Do you think I should dump Artie?" she asked out of the blue, and Quinn was completely flummoxed.

"What? Why would you want to break up with him? I thought you really liked him," and truthfully, Quinn thought Artie was really sweet to Brittany. She deserved someone who treated her nicely.

"I do, but San doesn't."

"Screw Santana," Quinn hissed.

"I can't anymore because that would be, like, cheating, or something," she responded sadly.

Quinn was speechless. Of course she'd known what went on between her two friends (in that way that you know something without  _really knowing_  it,) but she couldn't comprehend how Brittany could just talk about it like it was no big deal. She could never be so casual about…uh, nope, ignoring that big rainbow striped elephant in the pink tutu dancing down the hall.

"If you're happy, B, then you shouldn't care what Santana thinks," Quinn tried more tactfully.

The girl frowned, clearly trying to decide whether she should believe Quinn, and after a few seconds, she said, "but if she thinks I'm a dating a loser, then I can't be happy."

"Artie's not a loser," she responded hotly, angry at Santana on the boy's behalf.

Brittany ducked her head a little shamefully, "he kind of is, but I still like him."

Quinn rolled her eyes, "Then you shouldn't…"

"I just like Santana more," Brittany admitted softly, and Quinn found herself speechless once again. It was the closest her friend had ever come to making a confession to deeper feelings for Santana. "Sometimes living in Lima really sucks," she finished with a pout.

"Yeah, it does," Quinn agreed sadly, the words being drowned out by the warning bell. Her eyes widened as she glanced up at the clock on the far wall. "Crap! I have to go," she called out as she sprinted down the hallway, skidding around the corner and sliding to an inelegant stop in the doorway of her Lit class.

She was the very last one to arrive, but that didn't faze her until she stopped beside her usual desk where Santana and  _Tina_  sat side-by-side with dark heads bent down in hushed conversation. The accusatory, "you're in my seat, Chang" was out of her mouth before she could censure it.

Tina's head snapped up and her eyes widened, but it was Santana who said, "not today, Q. T and I are having a girl talk."

Quinn's eyes narrowed. "About what?"

"Wheels," Santana said at the same time Tina chirped out, "Mike." The two girls looked at each other in silent communication.

"Boys," they said in unison, grinning proudly. Quinn wasn't buying it for a minute.

"Why would you two be…?"

Ms. Fischer interrupted Quinn. "Ms. Fabray, please take a seat," she gestured to the front of the classroom, and the cheerleader silently groaned. The only empty desk was right next to Rachel Berry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Songs:**  
>  _"The Anthem," by Good Charlotte (2003)_  
>  "Razzle Dazzle," from Chicago


	11. Kill Them With Kindness

**Kill Them With Kindness**

Ms. Fischer had just started to write out her lesson plan on the white board when Quinn sank into the empty chair next to Rachel. Wordlessly, she primly cupped her hands on the desk in front of her, face forward and back rigid. Her unexpected appearance caught Rachel off-guard, and she may have forgotten to breathe for a moment as she stared at Quinn's profile. The need for oxygen eventually prevailed, and she gulped in some much needed air before snapping out of her shock and whispering, "I think you're in the wrong seat, Quinn. Tina normally sits here," except for the deviation in routine two days prior when Santana had been strangely solicitous.

A muscle in Quinn's cheek pulsed, and her fingers clenched on the desktop. "Looks like she sold us both out today," she muttered, eyes still fixated on the front of the room.

Rachel glanced over her shoulder to be met with Tina's sheepish smile and half-wave. Next to her, Santana leaned back in her chair with a smug grin and winked. Rachel snapped her head back around and mirrored Quinn's posture. Under the desk, her right leg began to bounce nervously. Her sixth sense was tingling. She was certain that something odd had been going on all week, and it seemed to be escalating.

Ms. Fischer started talking about the Romantic poets, but Rachel was only half paying attention. Every few minutes, she'd sneak a look at Quinn in an attempt to determine her state of mind. After Rachel's performance in glee that morning, she'd been expecting a backlash of epic proportions, even though Kurt had assured her that Quinn wouldn't retaliate—not that she would have any justification since she'd fired the first shot, but that had never stopped her in the past.

Rachel wasn't sure what magic Mercedes had worked, but Quinn had seemed pretty accepting while she sat in the choir room, listening to what basically amounted to a big, old F-you. Sure, she'd appeared more than a little embarrassed and uncomfortable, but thankfully not murderous or vengeful. It was a nice change from the preceding days, when Quinn seemed as though she wanted to punch Rachel at every turn. She felt hopeful that they might reach some sort of détente once again, especially since they'd seemed to share a moment after her song, however odd and disconcerting that moment had been.

She'd approached Quinn with the intention of being the bigger person and making some profound quip about bygones, but when their eyes met and held, she'd lost her words. And when Quinn had licked her lips, Rachel had to fight the annoying urge to lean over and taste them again. She'd done her best to ignore her inappropriate (lustful) response, and tried to focus on the glimmer of respect that she'd seen shining up at her through ever changing hazel. She would swear that she'd caught Quinn looking back at her a few times during Noah's performance of the seminal Broadway classic  _Razzle Dazzle_  (that she'd suggested he choose even though she knew Finn would not be pleased by their continuing,  _purely platonic_ , interaction.)

Rachel had even been certain for one insane moment that Quinn Fabray was actually about to apologize to her, but of course, she'd been disappointed. Then angry all over again. Kurt's suggestion of singing out her fury had seemed appropriate last night, but in the face of Quinn's frustrating silence, Rachel had wanted to dump a slushie over her shiny, blonde head. Then perhaps break into her house, steal her diary, and bribe Jacob Ben Israel into publishing it on his blog.

But really, what would that solve?

The likes of Quinn and Santana might subscribe to the  _don't-get-angry-get-even_ philosophy, but Rachel preferred to  _kill them with kindness_. Especially when she  _knew_ that technique was particularly effective at irritating Quinn, who did, in fact, have a heart buried way, deep down under the red, white and black of her cheerio's uniform.

Rachel's method was proving sound. She was quite certain that Quinn actually had given her a nod of acknowledgment (free of any derogatory insults) as they'd passed in the hallway today, because Rachel had done a double-take and ended up tripping over her own feet as a result. And this, right now, with Quinn sitting quietly next to her without rolling her eyes or firing off snide comments or drawing unflattering pict… _oh_ , scratch that last one.

Rachel's latest inspection found a bored Quinn idly doodling away in her notebook—and from a strictly stylistic point of view, the drawing was a vast improvement in artistry over the crude ones in the bathrooms, but her nose  _was not_ that big! And neither were her boobs! And wait—were those hearts in the corner?

Quinn slammed her notebook closed and glared at Rachel. She immediately felt her face flush. The calm, relaxed Quinn was gone, instantly replaced by the more familiar combative version. So much for progress. Rachel faced forward again, catching the tail end of Ms. Fischer praise of Emily Dickinson's contribution to American poetry.

"…so for your assignment," and quiet groans were heard around the room, "you will be picking a poem out of this can," she held up an empty Maxwell House coffee container and gave it a shake, "analyzing it, and presenting it to the class starting Monday." More grumbling, and Rachel silently wondered if Ms. Fischer was now taking advice from Mr. Schuester on how to orchestrate random assignments to disinterested students.

The teacher approached Rachel and Quinn first, since they were seated in the front row, and held out the can. Rachel reached in and retrieved a slip of paper, unfolding it and looking down to briefly scan the short verse.

_Success is counted sweetest_   
_By those who ne'er succeed._   
_To comprehend a nectar_   
_Requires sorest need._

_Not one of all the purple host_   
_Who took the flag to-day_   
_Can tell the definition,_   
_So clear, of victory!_

_As he, defeated, dying,_   
_On whose forbidden ear_   
_The distant strains of triumph_   
_Burst agonized and clear! ¹_

Well, that figured. Literature class was just mocking her life this week. Ms. Fischer carried the can over to the next desk, skipping over Quinn and both girls seemed to simultaneously realize the blunder. Quinn raised her hand and called out, "Ms. Fischer?"

The teacher paused and looked back at them, smiling, "Oh, thank you Ms. Fabray, I almost forgot. You'll all be working in pairs for this assignment. You can spend the last few minutes until the bell getting started if you'd like."

The rest of the class released a collective protest, silenced quickly by their teacher, but Rachel just stared at Quinn in trepidation as she watched her ears turn red. This was not going to go well, she just knew it. "Perhaps Tina and Santana will be amenable to switching partners," she offered hesitantly.

"I wouldn't be that lucky," she muttered sullenly, and Rachel cast a desperate look back at Tina, silently pleading for help, but the girl was studiously avoiding her eyes. Santana was actually laughing, so no help there. They were stuck.

Licking her lips, she reasoned, "It's only a poem. I'll make you a copy and we can both go over it on our own, then briefly meet to coordinate our presentation. Perhaps during lunch or after glee."

Quinn sighed, "Whatever. Just slip it my locker or something."

Rachel nodded, "I'll have it to you by the end of the day."

Quinn fidgeted in her seat, shaking her head and tapping her nails against the desk before she turned to face Rachel. "Look, Berry, about yesterday… You know, the song thing… I shouldn't have…" she trailed off, glancing away shamefully and biting her lip (and God,  _why_ did she have to keep  _doing_  that?)

Rachel unconsciously stared at Quinn's mouth and licked her own lips again, then she realized what she was doing and snapped herself out of it. "No, Quinn, you shouldn't have," she replied evenly, "but I have agreed to allow the matter to drop as you have promised to cease and desist your vendetta." They had to work together, after all, and holding a grudge would do no service to either of them.

"I didn't…" Quinn started, but when they made eye contact again, she snapped her mouth shut on the denial, and Rachel felt herself falling into the Quinn's unwavering gaze. "Yeah," Quinn finally whispered.

The ringing of the bell effectively ended the stilted approximation of an honest to goodness conversation between the two, but Rachel counted this firmly in the column labeled progress and she smiled. Perhaps she and Quinn really could become friends one day. In the very distant future.

_Except you generally shouldn't want to kiss your friends and feel their perfect, toned bodies pressed against you in very inappropriate ways._

_Wait. What?_

_Granted, Quinn does have a very nice physique, and countless cheerios' performances have illustrated that she is also very flexible…_

_Stop it, Rachel. Think of Finn._

_Finn. Finn. Finn. Finn. Quinn. Quinn…huh, why do their names have to be so annoyingly similar?_

_Think of your boyfriend._ _**Boy.** _ _Friend._

_**Boy.** _

_Any possible experimentation involving persons not of that opposite gender will simply have to wait until a later date, preferably after you have graduated and moved out of this oppressive, soul-sucking town._

_And oh, look, there is your_ _**boy** _ _friend now. Whom you love. Very much._

"Hi, Rach," Finn grinned, jogging up to her in the hall and slinging a heavy arm over her shoulder as he matched her pace.

"Hello, Finn," she chirped.

_Boyfriend._

"So, Puck and me were talking," he began.

"Puck and I," she automatically corrected.

_Grammatically-challenged boyfriend._

Finn stopped walking, causing Rachel to stumble to a stop beside him. "Wait…you and Puck, what?" he asked suspiciously, obviously still a little put out by Noah's poor decision to wink at her in glee.

_Distrustful, grammatically-challenged boyfriend._

Rachel rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Nothing, Finn. I was simply pointing out the proper use of pronouns in that sentence," but Finn's eyes had already glazed over, and Rachel could tell he was tuning her out. She blew out a frustrated breath, "you know what, never mind. Please tell me what you and Noah were talking about," she urged as they started to walk again.

"Oh, well, we were talking about ditching seventh period and going to Breadstix so we can beat the old people that go for the Thursday night all you can eat spaghetti special. You wanna come?"

_Distrustful, grammatically-challenged boyfriend who is apparently a delinquent._

"No, Finn, I do not wish to commit truancy in order to gorge myself on carbohydrates in a restaurant that does not offer a particularly vegan friendly menu," she chastised him snippily.

"Isn't the pasta, like, totally vegan?" he asked with a frown.

"Yes, but the meat sauce they smother it in is not. They don't offer a vegan alternative to the Alfredo, and the wait staff look at me like I'm crazy when I order the pasta without any sauce. The only thing I can eat there is the house salad," she complained. Rachel hated Breadstix, a fact that Finn knew very well.

 _Distrustful, grammatically-challenged boyfriend who is a delinquent_ _**and** _ _doesn't respect his girlfriend's beliefs._

"So order that," he said with a triumphant smile, giving her shoulder a rough squeeze.

"I'm not skipping class, Finn, and neither are you," she informed him primly.

He dropped his arm from her shoulder and his cheeks tinted red and turned blotchy. "You always do this—order me around like you know better than me."

"Because I do," she pointed out hotly "And you should have said  _better than I_."

"You know what, I don't care," Finn shouted, backing away with narrowed eyes. " _Me_  and  _Puck_  are going to Breadstix, and then we're gonna hang out at his house and play  _Halo_  until midnight. And not do our homework." He spun around and started to walk away.

"Fine," Rachel shouted at his retreating back.

Finn kept walking.

_Idiot!_

_Why am I even with him?_

_Oh, no. Don't start questioning it._

_No. No. No._

Rachel clutched her binder closer to her chest and continued to her next class. She didn't want to think about Finn, or she'd be forced to admit that the perfect image she'd once had of him was becoming increasingly tarnished. He could be so sweet and understanding, but he could also be judgmental and jealous and hypocritical. She loved him, but there were moments, like right now, when she wished that he would just grow up and stop being such a  _boy._

Of course, she  _liked_  that he was a boy—not liking that would imply that she might prefer girls, which she didn't. Or she didn't think she did. Everything was just so confusing lately. She wished she could blame it all on Quinn Fabray, but she knew better. Rachel had been trying to sail off into the sunset with Finn for a while now, but sometimes it just felt like she was constantly swimming against the tide and if she tried to relax for just one second, the next wave would drag her under.

Her mind wasn't really focused on her economics class, and she began to wonder, not for the first time, why she had such a problem just loosening up and letting go from time to time. She could have afforded to skip one class and act like a normal teenager for once, but then she didn't really relish the idea of sitting at Breadstix and watching Finn and Noah shovel endless plates of pasta into their mouths while they talked around said mouthfuls about video games and sports and hot _chicks._ Oh, and she shouldn't forget the fact that  _she_ wouldn't be able to speak directly to Noah without Finn thinking they were flirting and getting jealous. Rachel was only  _permitted_  to speak to the boy at all when Finn was present to supervise them, even though  _Finn_  could talk to Santana or Quinn whenever he chose and she was expected to accept it without question.

And she  _really_  needed to stop thinking about these things or she'd end up doing something drastic that would leave her hurt and alone again.

After the final bell rang, Rachel headed to the library to make a copy of the poem with the intention of slipping it through the slats of Quinn's locker before walking home (since Finn had been her ride to school and hadn't thought about the fact that he was stranding her with no way home.) Her plans were derailed when she encountered Quinn kneeling on the floor beside the copy machine and gathering up scattered papers while she quietly muttered to herself. Rachel caught her breath at the sight of Quinn's perfect backside on full display in that sinful, red skirt. Very bad thoughts started dancing around in her head, and she squeezed her eyes closed, wondering when exactly she started channeling Noah Puckerman. Pushing down her unruly libido, she knelt down to help, grabbing a few pages and handing them to Quinn.

"Thanks," Quinn said before looking up and realizing who she was talking to. "What are you doing here?" she blurted out.

Rachel decided not to take offense, since they had seemed to leave their last encounter on good terms and she didn't feel like regressing just yet, so she smiled and explained, "I was just coming to copy the poem for you."

"Oh, ah, yeah…" Quinn stuttered, standing up quickly and smoothing her skirt. "Sorry. I'll just be a minute. I have to copy my Chem notes for Brittany," she explained, indicating the crinkled papers in her hand.

Rachel's brow furrowed. "Aren't you in AP Chemistry?"

Quinn giggled, light and carefree, and it sounded like music to Rachel's ears. "Trust me, sometimes it's just easier to give Brit what she wants than to argue with her."

Rachel chuckled a little, "Yes, I suppose that's true enough." She did have some experience with Brittany after all, thinking about her odd visit the day after Christmas, then flushing as she remembered that Brittany had sort of hit on her. She hadn't thought much of it at the time, because Brittany hit on everyone eventually, and Rachel had been a little flattered. Now, she wondered if Brittany had sensed something that Rachel hadn't been ready to acknowledge.

Quinn finished with the machine, and Rachel ran her copy and handed the still warm paper to Quinn. Their fingertips brushed, and Rachel felt that same little zing that she'd felt at Noah's party and earlier that morning when Quinn had touched her arm. She jerked her hand away.

She was in so much trouble.

"Thanks," Quinn said again, stuffing the poem into her binder. "So, we could go over it tomorrow, during lunch. If that's okay?"

"That's perfect," Rachel rushed out. "We can meet in the choir room. It's usually available then."

"Good.," Quinn nodded.

"Yeah."

They continued to stand there studying once another, neither making a move to leave the library.

"I should go. Cheerios' practice," Quinn finally said.

"Oh, of course. I should be on my way as well."

Yet they were still standing there.  _Well this is odd_ , Rachel thought.

"Yeah, you probably don't want to keep  _Finn_  waiting," Quinn drawled, her lips curling into a sneer over her ex-boyfriend's name.

"Finn is currently engaged in male-bonding rituals with Noah," Rachel informed her, not bothering to disguise the disenchantment in her voice.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Let me guess—pigging out on the couch and playing video games."

Rachel smirked, "Close. Pigging out at Breadstix _,_  then playing video games."

Quinn laughed, "That's right, it's Thursday. God, they never change."

Rachel joined in Quinn's laughter, and it felt so good, like she could finally just let go and relax for a moment. The realization sobered her up, and she cleared her throat. "You should probably get to practice. I can't imagine Coach Sylvester tolerates tardiness."

Quinn's smile fell and she glanced up at the library clock. "Crap." She grabbed up her notebook and backpack, mumbling, "I'm in so much trouble," before she jogged toward the door, stopping at the last minute and spinning around. "See you tomorrow, Berry," she said before disappearing.

Rachel stared at the empty doorway for a full thirty seconds before she finally collapsed against the copy machine and ran her hands over her heated cheeks. Perhaps it was a good thing she was walking home today because she could use a blast of cold air to cool her off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _¹ "Success is counted sweetest," Emily Dickinson_


	12. Whispering

**Whispering**

The expression  _Thank God It's Friday_ existed for a reason and weeks like this one were a perfect example. Thankfully, there was no Puckerman party looming on the horizon to throw the universe off its axis again, and Rachel was hoping that this weekend would put things back to order. She just needed to get through her Literature assignment with Quinn, and she was certain they could go back to generally ignoring one another. Quinn's renewed burst of animosity, ignited by their unfortunate kiss, seemed to have finally burned itself out. Surely, Rachel's own little problem would disappear once she was no longer required to be in Quinn's constant presence.

When she arrived at her locker, she wasn't surprised to find Finn there waiting for her and looking suitably contrite. After all, his typical pattern was to blow up first, and then feel bad about it once he'd calmed down.

"Hey, Rachel, can we talk?" he asked, stuffing his hands in the pocked of his Letterman jacket and bracing a foot flat against the wall behind him as he leaned back.

"Of course, Finn," she encouraged him with a smile.

"I really hate fighting with you," he admitted, looking down at the floor.

Rachel set her binder in her locker and rested her hand on his arm. "I don't like it either."

Finn looked at her hand and grinned boyishly. "It was kind of stupid, too."

"Yes, it was."

"So we can just forget about it, right? I mean, I totally forgive you."

She nodded, "I…wait.  _You_  forgive  _me_?"

He shrugged, "Well, yeah. You were totally being controlling again."

Rachel dropped her hand, closing it into a fist and straightening her back. "Finn, you skipped class, completely disregarding the importance of your education."

"It was only one class," he argued, "and it's my education and stuff."

"But you," Rachel stopped, looking up into his eyes and realizing that they were about to spiral back into the same argument again, and she really didn't have the energy for it this morning. "No, I don't want to argue anymore. I forgive you, too."

"Cool," Finn smiled, pulling his hands from his pockets so he could wrap his arms around her, then bent down to peck her lips. "So, you wanna go out tonight? There's this new action movie playing that I really want to see."

"Sorry, Finn. Rachel already has a date with me tonight," Kurt interrupted with a cocky grin, unexpectedly appearing from behind his stepbrother.

"She does?"

"I do?"

Finn released his hold on Rachel, and Kurt stepped into the empty space beside her to wrap one arm around her shoulder. "We do. You promised me on Wednesday that I could take you shopping," he sang out the last word with an unholy gleam in his eyes.

Rachel swallowed thickly. She'd been kind of emotional on Wednesday night, and the promise of a shopping trip with Kurt had sounded nice at the time. They'd been out only once before and, while it hadn't been the disaster she'd been anticipating, it had definitely been a test of their new friendship. She wouldn't part with her skirts and sweaters, and Kurt wouldn't give up trying to make her more fashionable. They'd managed to compromise on a few plain blouses and basic black skirts, and he'd even convinced her to buy a pair of blue jeans that he insisted hugged her in all the right places. She'd actually worn them to school yesterday—granted Kurt had needed to play on her love of showmanship, convincing her to dress for her performance, but they'd both been surprised when she agreed to keep them on all day.

"Well, I promised we would go, but I didn't realize…"

"Tonight," Kurt cut her off. "Five o'clock sharp. I'll pick you up," he told her before he breezed away with a swish of his scarf.

Finn shifted his weight and dug his hands back into his pockets. "Well, uh, I guess I'll see you at lunch, then?"

"Yes…oh wait, I can't today. I have to meet Quinn," she told him.

His brows furrowed. "Why? I mean, it's  _Quinn_."

"Yes, and Quinn and I have an assignment to work on for our Literature class. We  _are_  capable of being civil to one another when we need to be," she informed him.

"Since when?" Rachel narrowed her eyes and frowned up at him, but Finn shook his head and explained, "It's just, two days ago you were crying because she was mean to you, and now you're having lunch with her."

Rachel crossed her arms. "She apologized…well, sort of. In any case, we've seemed to come to an understanding and are attempting to work together without further incident."

He sighed, "Just be careful, Rach. Quinn can be really vicious when she wants to be."

She knew she should have been comforted by the fact that Finn was so concerned for her well being, but she felt more offended on Quinn's behalf than anything else. That really wasn't a good omen towards the universe righting itself anytime soon. "I can take care of myself," she grumbled.

Finn's mouth twisted up in a half smile, and he kissed the top of her head. "Sure. Later, babe."

Wait— _babe?_ What the heck? Now Finn was channeling Noah, too!

 

•••

Rachel was pacing the choir room at 12:05. She'd sent Brad away (because the man was always hovering around his beloved piano) and was glancing at the clock every few seconds, becoming increasingly certain that Quinn was standing her up—or possibly had rigged a bucket of cherry slushie above the door to drench her. Despite her irritation with Finn for reminding her of the fact, she didn't doubt for a moment that Quinn Fabray was capable of feigning kindness in order to lull her victim into a false sense of security before she went in for the kill. Rachel still remembered how easily she'd been manipulated into hiring Dakota Stanley sophomore year.

As the clock ticked over to 12:06, Quinn finally pushed into the choir room. "Sorry. I got held up talking to Sam."

Rachel ignored the irrational little slither of jealousy at the mention of the image-obsessed jock. "That's perfectly alright, Quinn," she said, flattening down her skirt as she sat down. She opened her binder and pulled out the poem, gesturing for Quinn to join her. Quin dropped into the chair to her right, turning it a little to angle toward Rachel before unfolding her own wrinkled paper and smoothing it out over her lap.

Rachel shook her head and smiled a little at the action. "You really shouldn't cram all of your papers together that way. A tidy house is a tidy mind."

"It's a binder," Quinn quipped with an arched brow.

Rachel blushed, "Yes, well, it's a metaphor."

"And metaphors are important," Quinn finished with a teasing grin.

Rachel's cheeks grew even warmer, and she ducked her head. If angry Quinn had the ability to get her hot and bothered, then cute, playful Quinn was downright hazardous to her mental health. Clearing her throat, Rachel attempted to regain a strictly professional demeanor. "We should talk about the poem. I think it's fairly easy to interpret."

"Yeah, being a loser sucks."

"Quinn! Can you please take this assignment seriously?" Rachel admonished.

Quinn narrowed her eyes. "I am. She's saying that victory is sweet, and that nobody understands that better than the loser."

Okay, so technically that was correct. "That's a very basic summary," Rachel argued.

Quinn rolled her eyes and slumped back in her chair. "Why does it have to be more complicated? Seriously, Berry, you don't always need a three hundred word essay to say something important. Emily Dickinson was a master at simple and to the point."

Rachel huffed, "Contrary to popular belief, I do understand the concept of short and sweet. In this case, however, I believe that Ms. Fischer expects us to compare the poem back to other works by the author. For example, one will find in Dickinson's poetry, a re-occurrence of the theme that not having a thing increases one's appreciation of it. In this poem, the coveted item is success."

Some of the hostility seemed to drain out of Quinn's expression, and she dropped her eyes. "Why do you think we keep getting stuck debating stuff that's so freaking personal?" she asked in a small voice, and Rachel's heart went out to her. Quinn had lost a great deal over the last year, so of course the poem's theme would strike a nerve. She'd been at the bottom and clawed her way back on top. She should be basking in the sweetness of her own success, but instead she just seemed so…well, sad.

Truthfully, Rachel thought she could identify with at least some of what Quinn had experienced. She couldn't help thinking about the things that she had lost—and she wasn't thinking of Regionals last year, or the handful of solos that she'd wanted. She was thinking about Shelby, and how close she'd come to actually having a mother in her life, only to lose it after having been given a meager taste. She'd been so much better off before she'd had a name and a face and a voice to miss. Quinn had to be feeling a similar way about Beth.

Lacing her fingers tightly together on her lap, Rachel studied Quinn's down-turned face and defensive posture. "I suppose it's because nothing ever really changes. Every generation ends up having to deal with the same problems—life and death, love and loss—and you find the same themes again and again in art and literature and music. So many different people can identify with them, but they don't always evoke the same emotional response from everyone."

Quinn slowly met her eyes. "I guess we should talk about that…you know, when we present the poem."

"Okay," Rachel quietly agreed.

"How long have you played?" Quinn asked out of the blue, lifting her chin and nodding to indicate the piano.

Rachel blushed again, "Oh, uh, about six years. I'm really not very good."

"Yes, you are," Quinn said, then flushed and quickly added, "I mean, from what I heard."

"Thanks," Rachel murmured softly, shocked by the compliment.

"Why didn't you ever tell anyone? I mean, I would have thought you'd be eager to point out another talent."

The soft smile on Quinn's face and the lack of sarcasm took the sting out of her words, so Rachel chuckled, "Because I'm only a passable pianist, while I am an exceptional vocalist. I choose to focus on my strengths." Also, she didn't much care to hear her fellow glee clubbers accuse her of seeking even more attention.

Quinn nodded as if she understood. "What was that song you were playing on Tuesday?"

Rachel shifted uncomfortably, somewhat surprised that Quinn had noticed the music or would even care to ask about it. There was no denying that it was a beautiful piece, but the subject matter was one that Quinn might find too personal, and so Rachel hesitated to elaborate on it. Yet she couldn't escape Quinn's earnest expression, and found herself answering the question.

"It's called  _Whispering_ , from  _Spring Awakening_."

"Broadway, right?" Quinn verified, fingers playing absently with the pleats of her cheerio's skirt.

"Of course," she confirmed with a half smile.

Quinn's hands flattened out on her skirt, and she glanced down into her lap, shyly asking, "Could you…could you sing it now?"

Rachel froze, uncertain how to respond. On the one hand, her ego was jumping for joy because Quinn had actually  _asked_  her to sing, but on the other hand, her common sense was telling her that she  _really_  should refuse. "Quinn…I'm not certain…"

"Please."

That voice—soft and low and warm all melted together in a velvety whisper—completely undid her resolve. With a nod, Rachel stood and moved to the piano, hoping that Brad wasn't lingering around to scold her for touching his baby. She willed her hands to stop shaking before pressing them gently to the keys, caressing the ivory and allowing the melody to float into the heavy air around them. Drawing a breath, she began to sing, closing her eyes and abandoning herself to the music.

_"Whispering_  
 _Here the ghosts in the moonlight_  
 _Sorrow doing a new dance_  
 _Through their bone, through their skin_

_Listening_  
 _To the souls in the fool's night_  
 _Fumbling mutely with their rude hands_  
 _And there's heartache without end_

_See the father bent in grief_  
 _The mother dressed in mourning_  
 _Sister crumbles, and the neighbors grumble_  
 _The preacher issues warnings_

_History_  
 _Little miss didn't do right_  
 _Went and ruined all the true plans_  
 _Such a shame. Such a sin._

_Mystery_  
 _Home alone on a school night_  
 _Harvest moon over the blue land_  
 _Summer longing on the wind_

_Had a sweetheart on his knees_  
 _So faithful and adoring_  
 _And he touched me. And I let him love me._  
 _So let that be my story_

_Listening_  
 _For the hope, for the new life_  
 _Something beautiful, a new chance_  
 _Hear its whispering_  
 _There again."_

The last notes faded, and Rachel lifted her fingers from the piano to stare into its polished surface at her own distorted image. It wasn't until she was hastily brushing away the moisture in her eyes that she heard a muffled sniffle and fully remembered Quinn.

Her gaze connected with Quinn's, and her heart splintered. Hazel eyes were wide with pain, and one trembling hand was pressed over her mouth as tears streamed down her cheeks. Rachel stood automatically, intending to comfort the girl, but the shrill scraping of the bench against the tiled floor startled Quinn into a defensive retreat. She jumped from her chair and grabbed her notebook, gasping, "I have to go," as she struggled to regain her composure.

She was halfway to the door when Rachel called out her name. She stopped but didn't turn, and Rachel gently told her, "If you want to talk about…"

"No!" Quinn growled, swiveling her body around and pinning Rachel with a hard glare. Her tear tracks glistened under the harsh lights, but she could already see Quinn's walls sliding back up and locking out the rest of the world. "Just forget it, Berry."

"But…"

"God, can't you ever just be quiet?" she hissed, and Rachel flinched at the icy contempt bleeding back into her voice. She silently cursed herself for unwittingly setting Quinn off again, because she'd known that song would touch a very raw nerve.

She watched Quinn agitatedly swipe at the remnants of her tears, purse her lips, and square her shoulders, completing the transformation back into the untouchable head-bitch-in-charge before stalking out of the room. Rachel growled and kicked the piano leg in frustration, only to blanch when she turned back around and saw Brad standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips and giving her the evil-eye.

"Ah…s-sorry," she stuttered, jumping away from the piano and gathering up her bag. "I was just going—yeah," she raced past him with her head dropped, as to not incite him further, and chirped, "Bye, Brad," before taking off in a very vigorous power walk down the hall.

 

•••

After the unfortunate end to their encounter in the choir room, it really came as no surprise to Rachel when Quinn reclaimed her normal desk in Literature, refusing to look at her any time she attempted eye contact. She supposed she should count herself lucky that she wasn't receiving a death glare. Avoidance was a familiar strategy for the two of them.

She smiled at Tina when she came in and the first words out of the girl's mouth were a stuttered apology. "I didn't know we'd get stuck working in pairs. If it makes you feel better, I think you got the better deal. At least Quinn isn't evil."

"I heard that, Ms. Saigon," Santana growled from two rows back.

"She scares me," Tina whispered.

"She scares everyone," Rachel quietly agreed. "I think it might be a life goal."

The class dragged on without incident, and Quinn flew from the room as soon as the bell rang. Rachel wasn't surprised. She and Tina walked out together and headed for glee, chatting idly about their shared classes. One by one, the other kids trickled into the choir room with Quinn arriving last and practically sitting in Sam's lap—really, could their chairs be any closer together? Rachel shrugged off her (completely unjustified) annoyance, and attempted to move her own chair closer to Finn.

Mr. Schuester breezed in with a smile, tossing his briefcase on the desk and leaning on the edge. "Hi, guys. I know it's Friday, and you all typically just like to jam a little and get out of here for the weekend."

"Hell, yeah," Puck shouted.

"But, only a few of you have completed your assignments this week, and I want to get a few more in. So who's ready? "

"I'll go, Mr. Schue," Finn volunteered with a grin.

Rachel frowned when she realized that she had no idea what song her boyfriend had chosen. She'd given him a list filled with Broadway classics—a little Sinatra, some Barry Manilow (which had been entirely Noah's fault because he'd gotten hold of her list and scribbled down a few songs in permanent ink and explaining to Finn how that had happened wasn't something Rachel was prepared to do) and her own personal recommendation, the king himself, Mr. Elvis Presley. He was a classic, after all.

But when Finn got up in front of the room and starting shaking his groove thing to Ke$ha's  _Your Love Is My Drug_ , Rachel literally face-palmed. She honestly didn't know whether to be amused or embarrassed for him. Finn wasn't the most graceful dancer under the best circumstances, and watching him hop around the room in an attempt to channel Mike Chang was more frightening than listening to Mr. Schue rap. She supposed she had to give him points for trying.

Most of the kids seemed to be having a good time with his performance. Brittany was up and dancing with Mike, and everyone was joining in on the chorus. Rachel figured she was probably the only one less than impressed, but really, Finn was her  _leading man_. His choice of goofy bubblegum pop was not appropriate for that coveted position. Still, when he reached down to grab her hands and pull her to her feet, she could hardly refuse to be a good, supportive girlfriend and dance with him.

When he twirled her around, she noticed that Quinn was still in her seat wearing a mask of indifference, even though Sam was nudging her in an attempt to get her to join in. Finn recaptured Rachel's attention when he musically asked her if she wanted to have slumber party in his basement, and she couldn't help but laugh at his puppy dog expression.

" _Your love, your love, your love, your love_ ," he bent down closer to Rachel and whispered, " _is my drug,_ " and thank God he finished with a chaste kiss instead of the actual last line. She could only imagine the fresh material that Santana or Quinn would have if her boyfriend told her, ' _I like your beard.'_

"That was really…uh, something, Finn," Mr. Schuester said diplomatically. "I don't think we'll be taking it to Regionals, but great job getting out of your comfort zone."

"Finn, what happened to the list I gave you," Rachel whispered harshly when they sat down.

"I threw it away. No offense, but those songs really sucked."

Rachel gasped, completely affronted. "They were classics!"

"Who's next?" Mr. Schue wanted to know.

"Well, since my dear stepbrother warmed up the audience with that incredibly gay performance…"

"Hey!"

"Allow me to demonstrate how the roof  _should_  be raised," Kurt drawled with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, and Rachel leaned forward in anticipation, knowing what song he'd chosen (thanks to Santana's influence.)

A lick of the guitar had Kurt ditching his normal cool and aloof aura to vent a little musical steam, dipping his voice into his lower register.

_"Right right, turn off the lights._  
 _We gonna lose our minds tonight._  
 _What's the dealio?_  
 _I love when it's all too much._  
 _Five a.m., turn the radio up._  
 _Where's the rock and roll?"_

He took Rachel's hand and pulled her from her seat.

" _Party crasher, penny snatcher."_

He smirked and tugged Mercedes out of her chair.

" _Call me up if you want gangsta."_

He pointed up to Santana, who responded with a snap of her fingers _._

" _Don't be fancy, just get dancey_."

He urged Brittany up to dance, then nodded at Puck.

" _Why so serious?"_

_"So raise your glass_  
 _if you are wrong,_  
 _in all the right ways._  
 _All my underdogs,_  
 _we will never be never be_  
 _anything but loud and nitty gritty_  
 _dirty little freak._  
 _Won't you come on and come on and_  
 _raise your glass,_  
 _just come on and come on and_  
 _raise your glass."_

Mike and Tina bounced down the risers to join the party. Puck twirled Santana, and Brittany danced around Artie. Sam pulled Quinn into the mix and soon enough the whole club was up and dancing again, forgetting about any conflicts or personal disagreements that existed outside of glee.

Rachel was having so much fun dancing with Kurt, then Mercedes and Tina and Finn, that she barely noticed when she ended up crossing into Quinn's orbit until she spun into her. Quinn reached out and caught her arms to steady her, bodies bumping together enticingly for just a moment before they both jumped back and twisted away.

" _Just come on and come on and raise your glass. For me."_

Kurt looped his arm under Rachel's as he finished the song, and she forced her heart to stop racing as she smiled up at her friend and told him how wonderful he was.

"Oh, sweetie, no need to keep stating the obvious."

Rachel laughed, "and so modest, too."

"But of course," he winked down at her.

"Excellent job, Kurt." Mr. Schue said before the bell cut him off. Everyone started gathering up their belongings and heading for the door as he called over the chatter, "Have a great weekend guys, and be ready to pick this up on Monday."

Kurt bumped Rachel's shoulder. "And  _you—_ be ready to  _be_  picked up at five. I have plans for you."

She swallowed nervously at the thought of being dragged into every store at the Lima Mall, but nodded anyway. She watched him walk over to the corner where Mercedes and Quinn were talking. He leaned in to say something to Mercedes, who smiled and took his outstretched arm, waving goodbye to Quinn as the boy led her away. She waved back, but the relaxed, happy expression on her face fell away when her eyes landed on Rachel.

Rachel took a half step forward, not certain exactly what she was intending to do, but Finn's arm falling across her shoulder saved her from figuring it out. When she glanced up at him, Quinn took the opportunity to hastily bolt from the room, and Rachel was left wondering why her urge to run after the girl was so very strong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Songs:**   
>  _"Whispering," from Spring Awakening_   
>  _"Your Love Is My Drug," performed by Ke$ha_   
>  _"Raise Your Glass," performed by P!nk_


	13. Allergic To Argyle

**Allergic To Argyle**

"So, how are things with Sam?"

Quinn glanced up from her salad where she'd been moving pieces of lettuce around on her plate and focused on Mercedes. They were currently having a girls' night out in an attempt to repair their neglected friendship, and so far, she'd spent more time trying not to stare too longingly at the bacon cheeseburger that Mercedes had ordered than actually talking. Sometimes she really hated being a cheerio.

"We're fine," she lied. Truthfully, she really hadn't been alone with her boyfriend since Tuesday evening, and she was more than okay with that fact. Sure, they'd talked at school and had lunch together a couple of times, but Quinn had been avoiding intimate situations—which may be one of the reasons that she'd agreed to hang out with Mercedes on a Friday night instead of going out on a date with her boyfriend. Sam hadn't exactly been happy to find out that she'd made other plans. He just assumed that because they were dating, she'd automatically be available to him whenever he wanted even though he never formally asked her anymore. She'd agreed to go to some sci-fi movie with him on Saturday night just so he'd stop whining about how neglected he felt.

Quinn should have remembered that Mercedes wasn't easily fooled. "Just fine?" she prodded.

"Look, he's a great guy, but it's  _high school_. It's not like I'm looking to fall in love forever and always."  _Not with Sam, anyway._

"No, I get that," Mercedes conceded with a nod, "but isn't that kind of a waste though? I mean, why bother if you're not really feeling it?"

"Because it's better than being alone." But was it? Quinn started junior year with all these big ideas about putting herself first and being independent, but she'd barely made it a month before she'd given in and coupled up.

"No offense or anything, but I'd rather be alone," Mercedes told her plainly.

"How could I be offended by that?" Quinn retorted, her voice oozing sarcasm.

"Sorry. I just think if you're gonna be with somebody, it should be because you can't wait to see them or talk to them or just be in the same room with them. You gotta at least want to try for that happily ever after just a little bit, even if it doesn't last. Otherwise, you're just settling—and that's just sad."

Quinn leaned back in the booth and studied her friend's open, sincere expression. "I never took you for a hopeless romantic."

"Hope _ful_ ," Mercedes stressed. "There's a difference."

She bit back a laugh. "If you say so."

Mercedes waved a dismissive hand. "Take Rachel, for example…"

Quinn instantly stiffened. "I'd rather not," but Mercedes just ignored the comment and kept talking.

"She's kinda on the hopeless side. Like she's trying too hard to be in love for the sake of being there instead of just letting it happen. I mean, seriously, her and Finn? It's kind of painful to watch."

Well, that was true, but "I thought you were on the Berry Bandwagon these days."

Mercedes looked a little uncomfortable. "I'm not buying any Team Rachel shirts, but Kurt's riding high on some diva bond with her, so I'm trying to keep an open mind and give the girl a chance."

"How's that working out for you?" Quinn asked cuttingly, hoping to disguise the fact that she genuinely wanted to know. The last few interactions that she'd had with Rachel had felt different somehow. Well, until she'd had her last little freak out, but that had more to do with her own issues than with Rachel.

Mercedes frowned at her tone, but brushed it off. "Actually, Rachel can be kind of okay when she's not working the ego trips. A little tactless, maybe, but hey, compared to Santana, she's downright charming. Maybe not as charming as Coach Sylvester…"

Quinn snorted, immediately covering her mouth with a hand to stifle the laughter, which caused Mercedes to break into a fit of giggles. "Oh my God," she finally managed. "You shouldn't say that out loud. Coach has spies everywhere."

Mercedes shrugged a shoulder, "Eh, what's she gonna do to me? I'm already on her list for being in glee club  _and_ quitting cheerios." She slapped down some money to pay the bill. "Now, come on, lets roll. I got some money to burn and some shoe stores just calling out for me to strike the match."

With one last, hungry look at the unfinished pieces of bacon on Mercedes's plate, Quinn followed her out of Ruby Tuesday's and into the Lima Mall. They browsed through a few stores, and Mercedes did indeed burn through some of her dad's credit at the Shoe Carnival.

They were just coming down the escalator by the American Eagle Outfitters when they ran into Kurt and…oh, no…

The boy's grin stretched from ear to ear. "Mercedes. Quinn. Fancy meeting you two here."

Mercedes greeted them with a smile. "Hi, Kurt. Hi, Rachel. You guys shopping, too?"

_Well, duh_ , Quinn wanted to say, her eyes still glued to Rachel. The girl was wearing blue jeans again, and one of her more tolerable sweaters, undoubtedly at Kurt's insistence, and she looked  _good_. She also looked uncomfortable.

_Probably because you were a total bitch to her again today. Or, you know, maybe because you're staring at her the same way you were staring at the bacon._

"Obviously," Kurt held up bags from Elder-Beerman and Buckle. "We were just on our way to the Wet Seal. There's this gorgeous little black dress that I'm just dying to get Rachel into."

Rachel's attention suddenly turned away from Quinn. "Ah, Kurt, I'm a little gun shy when it comes to little black dresses after the last time."

He threw up his free arm in exasperation, asking, "Are you ever going to let me forget that?"

"It was hardly my best look," Rachel rationally pointed out.

"It was hot," Quinn mumbled once she realized what they were talking about and remembered the dress Rachel had worn to school last year. Three pairs of eyes turned her way, and she flushed. "I mean, the  _dress_ was," she explained defensively, then dropped her eyes and quietly admitted, "You looked really nice."

Rachel's cheeks turned pink. "Th-thank you, Quinn."

"Hey, the four of us should totally hit some stores together," Mercedes suggested in an attempt to alleviate the awkward moment.

"No," Quinn interjected.

"I really don't think that's the best idea," Rachel added more considerately.

"Come on," Mercedes urged, "I thought you two were over the drama now."

"I wouldn't go that far," Quinn said, knowing it was her own fault that they were back on the defensive with one another again. They'd exchanged a few cordial words, and maybe, like Mercedes, Quinn had found herself thinking that Rachel was pretty okay sometimes, but then she'd gone and ruined it because she'd been weak enough to let a stupid song make her cry, and she lashed out at Rachel for witnessing that weakness.

"We've established a temporary cease fire," Rachel explained with a half-smile, seemingly willing to forgive Quinn's lapse.

She fought down the unwanted urge to return that endearing, little smile, and warned them all, "Prolonged exposure could make me a little trigger happy."

"Which may result in casualties," Rachel continued with straight-faced nod.

"Oh my God, you both need to stop the metaphor right now," Kurt exclaimed.

"But metaphors are important," the girls quoted together, then shared embarrassed chuckles. Kurt and Mercedes exchanged a look, little grins slowly uncurling on their lips.

"A little retail therapy will be good for you, Quinn," Mercedes insisted, looping her arm around Quinn. "It'll be fun."

"I'm allergic to argyle," she deadpanned.

Rachel put a hand on her hip and stomped her foot. "Why does everyone keep making that joke? I  _do not_ own  _that much_ argyle."

"I've been in your closet, sweetie," Kurt reminded her.

Mercedes rolled her eyes. "You've been in a lot of closets."

"At least I came out," Kurt shot back.

Quinn froze, and Rachel's eyes grew wide before she averted them away from Quinn and nervously pushed her dark bangs off to the side. "Yeah, let's just…shop now." She took off into the crowd, and Kurt skipped after her.

"Come on, girl." Mercedes grabbed her hand and dragged her along to follow them. Quinn kept replaying parts of the exchange— _banter? …flirting?_ Oh God, please don't let it have been flirting!—because she felt like suddenly she was clicking with Rachel Berry, and clicking with Rachel would just lead to a whole new mess of problems that she really didn't need. She should fake sick and go home. She'd just tell Mercedes she had food poisoning or something—you could get that from salad, right?

"Mercedes," she started, but they were already in the middle of the store standing next to Rachel, and Quinn's eyes caught the shirt the girl was holding up, and "Oh, my God. No!" She grabbed the offending article away from her and looked at it disdainfully. It was a simple white tee, but it had a god-awful, gray, sequined bow around the scooped collar. "Only you could find the fugliest shirt in the store."

"Thank you!" Kurt grabbed Quinn's arm and squeezed it with gratitude.

Rachel frowned at him. "But you told me anything in here would be acceptable."

"I was so obviously mistaken," he said, turning to Quinn and Mercedes with a shrug. "It's like they knew she was coming."

"Come on, guys. It's not that bad," Rachel insisted.

Mercedes put a consolatory hand on her shoulder. "Oh, baby, you need an intervention bad."

Rachel crossed her arms and started to pout, and damn it, Quinn should  _not_  be thinking that she looked kind of cute doing it. She never had before. Well, not often, anyway.

Kurt rocked up onto his toes and did a quick scan of the store before he looked at Rachel. "Okay, only one rule. No bows, no animals, no paisley, no argyle."

Rachel furrowed her brows. "Isn't that technically four rules?"

"Don't be smart," he told her.

"Can't help it," she sassed back, and Quinn grinned a little. This was the first time she was really getting to see a more relaxed, playful side of Rachel Berry, and she liked it.

Kurt grabbed her shoulders and spun her towards another rack. "Pick something else."

Rachel immediately reached for a purple tunic top, pulling it off the rack and holding it up for inspection. "How about this one?" Embossed across the front of the shirt was a white butterfly.

Kurt gaped, and Mercedes shook her head in awe. "It's like she has radar."

Quinn tore her eyes away from the shirt and looked at Rachel's face. At first glance, she was wearing a familiar wide-eyed, hopeful expression, but upon closer inspection, the corners of her mouth were twitching and her dark eyes were twinkling with mirth. She was so playing them.

Rachel's gaze connected with Quinn's, and seeing that she had her pegged, Rachel erupted in genuine, brash, joyful laughter, the likes of which Quinn had never before heard from the girl. "You should see your faces," she finally gasped.

Quinn started to giggle, and Mercedes busted out laughing, too. Kurt just rolled his eyes and grabbed the shirt away from Rachel, shoving back into the rack. "Very funny, Berry."

A few of the other shoppers were shooting odd looks their way, and Quinn glared right back at them. Sheesh, couldn't a couple of kids just have a little fun? It's not like they were hurting anybody.

Kurt pulled Rachel over to another, less colorful rack and started shifting the hangers, nodding his head as he went. "You so need to try on this skirt," he finally said with a smile, holding up a little scrap of black and white material. No really, Quinn had seen napkins bigger than that, and from the way Rachel's mouth fell open, she was obviously thinking the same thing.

"It's really not my style."

"It's short and it's plaid," Mercedes pointed out. "What's not your style?"

"It's actually cute, therefore not her style," Quinn joked.

Rachel worried her lower lip, fingering the muted plaid design. "It's shorter than I would normally prefer."

"Girl, you've got the legs to pull it off," Mercedes encouraged her.

And suddenly, that skirt didn't seem like such a hot idea to Quinn. "If she doesn't want to try it on, she doesn't have to."

Rachel glanced over at her, and her indecision disappeared "No…I'll try it."

"Yay!" Kurt exclaimed as he handed her the skirt, then spun and grabbed another hanger, shoving it at Rachel. "This too."

"Kurt.! I can't wear this!" Rachel squeaked, flushing as she held the tiny white lace camisole away from her as if it may bite.

"Humor me. We'll put this over it," he said, handing her a fitted, black, short sleeved jacket. Quinn had to silently concede that Kurt knew his stuff—the outfit was fashionable, but still suited Rachel's style enough that no one would really notice a drastic change.

"But…" Rachel protested.

"Finn'll love it," Mercedes offered.

Quinn couldn't help snorting. "Yeah, right," she scoffed.

Mercedes gave her a little slap on her shoulder. "Be nice, Quinn."

"What? Finn's a jealous moron. He'd flip if she wore that to school," she predicted. She'd dated the guy, after all—she knew how his mind worked. He loved looking at hot girls, but he didn't like any other guy to look at  _his_ hot girl, because then he'd get all insecure. Quinn had always countered her own hotness with an attitude that made her mostly unapproachable, but Rachel would probably smile invitingly and eat up the attention. Quinn frowned, not fond of the idea at all.

"She's actually right," Rachel agreed. "He really didn't like it when I tried out my Britney Spears look."

"Wait, what?" Kurt cried indignantly. "That look was fabulous on you."

Rachel shrugged, shifting the pile of clothes in her arms. "Finn likes the way I dress now."

Kurt grimaced. "Well, at least we know he's definitely straight."

"Look, you shouldn't dress to please a guy, Rach. You should dress to please yourself. If I had a hot body like yours, you can bet I'd be working it," Mercedes finished with a wistful look at Rachel's tiny figure.

"You did say you liked to feel like a pretty girl sometimes," Kurt reminded her.

"I…I do. But I like my normal clothes, too. I'm comfortable in them."

"I know, I know," he sighed. "I don't agree, but I respect it. We're taking baby-steps here. Just try it on. You don't have to buy anything."

"Okay," she finally agreed.

Without missing a beat, Kurt swung around to Quinn and gave her a once over. "And as for you…"

"What?" she asked dumbly, looking down at her pink dress and white cardigan.

The boy clicked his tongue. "It's a good thing you wear your cheerleading uniform to school everyday, because your personal style is a little on the cloistered nun side."

"Hey!"

Mercedes chuckled, "S'true, Q. You gotta cut back on the baby doll dresses."

"I like my dresses," she defended.

"I like them, too," Rachel agreed in a dreamy tone, and Quinn felt her stomach flutter. Rachel sucked in a sharp breath, sputtering, "I mean, Quinn always looks very nice. Wholesome."

Quinn looked away, her eyes stinging. "Yeah, real wholesome…"

"Hey now," Mercedes wrapped an arm around her waist, tugging her close. "It was one mistake. It's not like you're Santana or anything."

"Thank God," Kurt and Rachel said in stereo.

The boy dove into another rack, coming up with a triumphant smile. "Now, here…these jeans would look amazing on you."

"I don't really go for jeans," she complained. Her dresses hid a multitude of sins. Even before her pregnancy, she'd always tried to conceal her thighs and backside as much as possible. The cheerios skirts didn't hide much, but they were still better than skin tight denim.

"May I say from personal experience, arguing with Kurt on matters of fashion is a battle in futility. You may as well just try them on," Rachel informed her with a wry grin.

Quinn rolled her eyes and conceded defeat. "Fine, let's do this."

Ten minutes later, Quinn found herself in a dressing room in the back of the store, eyeing the mirror critically. The low-rise jeans were tight—very tight—and so was the Kelly-green tunic top that Kurt had insisted would make her eyes look amazing, but she had to admit, she looked hot. She'd worked hard to get her body back over the summer, and she supposed there was nothing wrong with showing it off in something other than her uniform once in a while. Opening the door, she stepped out to get the final judgment, but Kurt and Mercedes were otherwise occupied with Rachel.

Quinn's mouth went dry when saw the other girl. She was fussing with the jacket, trying to tug the edges closer together, but it was a losing battle because the cut was designed to gape open around her breasts, revealing an ample amount of cleavage. The skirt was ridiculously short, and without the addition of those horrid stockings Rachel seemed to favor, every tanned, toned inch of her legs was on full display. Quinn couldn't look away.

"You have  _got_  to buy this outfit, Rachel," Kurt insisted.

"I don't know…"

"Quinn, tell the girl she looks  _fine_ ," Mercedes instructed.

Startled, Rachel turned to look at Quinn. Her hands fell away from the jacket, hanging limply at her sides as her eyes slid over Quinn's body from top to toe, then back up again. Quinn shivered under the visual caress, biting back a moan when Rachel ran her tongue over her full upper lip. Oh, God, this was not happening! Rachel Berry was not eye-sexing her in the middle of the Lima Mall Wet Seal.

Quinn mentally slapped herself, and, feigning indifference, she stepped past Rachel to admire her own reflection in the three-way mirror (a total and complete lie—she was actually checking out Rachel's ass in that skirt) as she ran a hand over her own stomach (and sweet baby Jesus, was she showing off her body for Rachel?) and bit her lip in contemplation.

"You look good, Berry," she hedged, and falling back on the Fabray cockiness, added, "but I look better."

"Yeah," Rachel agreed breathily, then adjusted her posture until the customary Rachel Berry (over) confidence was shining brightly through and turned to Kurt with a look of determination. "I think I  _will_ buy this outfit."

"Score one for me," Kurt bragged, bumping his fist with Mercedes in triumph. Quinn saw the two share a sly grin, and her brow furrowed as she considered that they might be up to something, but the suspicion flew away when Rachel stripped off the jacket right in front of the mirror and revealed the barely there cami.

"I'm trying on that little black dress," she announced on her way back into her dressing room.

Quinn released a shaky breath and kissed her sanity goodbye.


	14. The First Sign Of The Apocalypse

**The First Sign of the Apocalypse**

"Quinn, can you help me with this zipper?"

Rachel was bashfully poking her head out of her dressing room, one hand clutching at the half-opened door to keep it in place so that she could continue to hide her body behind it. Quinn had already stripped out of the blue jeans and donned her dress and cardigan once again, and she glanced around in search of Mercedes, or even Kurt, but they both seemed to have suddenly disappeared.

"I…ah, sure," she reluctantly agreed, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. She tried her best not to stare too blatantly at Rachel in that little black dress, or to notice the way the material molded to her breasts and hugged her tiny waist before flowing over her hips and kissing the tops of her thighs. Quinn could see why Kurt had been so insistent that she try it on—it was almost as if the dress had been made specifically for Rachel's body.

Rachel turned her back and pulled her thick, dark hair to the side, revealing a slender neck and flawless, creamy shoulders. Quinn reached out hesitantly for the zipper that was left gaping slightly short of closed and tugged it up quickly.

"Your hands are trembling, Quinn," Rachel observed as she slowly turned around to face her. "Are you nervous?"

"What? No!" Quinn barked out, taking a reflexive step back.

Rachel gazed up at her unflinchingly, carefully measuring Quinn for a long, tense moment before a knowing smile curved her lips and she stepped closer. "I think you are. I think  _I_  make you nervous. I've seen the way you've been looking at me."

"You're delusional," she hotly denied as the panic over being caught clawed at her insides, even while her eyes continued to betray her by locking onto Rachel's mouth. "I can't even stand being near you," she insisted weakly.

"You seemed fairly comfortable with it last week when you kissed me," Rachel pointed out evenly.

 _No!_ She wasn't supposed to mention  _that_ —saying it made it real. "I didn't! You kissed me," Quinn argued as she took another step and her back hit the dressing room wall.

"And I liked it," Rachel admitted huskily, her eyes dropping shyly and her small body trapping Quinn with its proximity. "I can't stop thinking about it." Her eyes lifted back to Quinn's and she confessed, "I want to kiss you again."

Quinn gazed helplessly into those deep, dark eyes. "You…do?"

"Don't you? Aren't you curious if it would be as amazing a second time?"

She was so close, and that tempting mouth only the barest inch away. Quinn unconsciously tilted her head down. "Oh, God, yes," she breathed without thinking, words getting lost against Rachel's lips as they closed over her own.

Just like had happened before, Quinn melted into the kiss, intoxicated by the taste and texture of Rachel's mouth. She ran her tongue along Rachel's lower lip and begged entry, and she wasn't refused. One hand cupped Rachel's head, fingers burrowing into thick brown hair, and her other hand flattened low on her back, fingertips brushing that perfect ass and pulling her closer. She had to get closer…kiss deeper… _feel_  more. Arousal spiked, and she was moaning. She tore her mouth away from Rachel's for a much needed breath.

"I want you," she managed to rasp out before recapturing Rachel's lower lip, nipping and suckling the flesh in a series of tiny, desperate kisses.

"You can have me," Rachel promised in a sultry voice. "You just have to wake up first."

"Mm?" Quinn hummed into Rachel's throat, too engrossed with nuzzling the soft skin there to understand what she said.

"Wake up, Quinn."

Her eyes flew open, her body jerked and she moaned in frustration. The only thing in her arms was her pillow and she was twisted up in her bed sheets…again.

_Shit._

Kicking at her covers, she flipped over onto her back and flung one arm across her eyes. The ache between her legs was begging to be attended, and she let the fingers of her right hand tease against the elastic of her sleep shorts for just a second before she remembered that she didn't do  _that_  and slapped it flat against the mattress.

"I hate you, Rachel Berry."

•••

Despite having slept until almost noon on Saturday, Quinn wasn't exactly awake and fully functional when she finally crawled out of bed. She felt tired and restless and distracted. Apart from the fantasy that her subconscious had chosen to torment her with repeatedly, she'd actually had fun Friday night with Mercedes, Kurt and Rachel, even if her real-life reaction to seeing Rachel in that little black dress had been frighteningly similar to dream Quinn's—well, barring the actual touching and kissing part.

And yes, Rachel had bought the damned dress, too.

Quinn frowned a little. For all her self-confidence and bravado, Rachel was dangerously easy to persuade. A little attention and some complements, and she'd do anything you asked her to do. Kurt had gotten his way on her wardrobe additions with almost no resistance. A more manipulative person could really take advantage of that—and oh, hey, Quinn had done just that on more than one occasion in the past. She'd just never felt guilty about it before, nor had she been suffering from this new, overwhelming urge to protect the girl. The whole situation was very worrying.

She lazed around the house all afternoon until it was time to get ready for her date with Sam. She contemplated wearing the new jeans and shirt she'd bought last night—apparently, Rachel wasn't the only one who had trouble saying  _no_  to Kurt—but eventually decided on a pair of black leggings, boots and an over-sized red sweater that appropriately camouflaged her hips and thighs. She pushed her hair back with a red headband and nodded approvingly at her reflection before skipping down the stairs.

Her mother was camped out on the couch watching old episodes of  _Desperate Housewives_  (something about identifying with the characters) and sifting through old photos (because she'd taken up scrap-booking as a hobby in an attempt to keep her hands occupied and away from the wine glasses.) Judy looked up at her daughter and smiled, putting aside her papers and getting up from the couch. "Quinnie, honey, you look beautiful."

"Thanks, Mom." Quinn shifted uncomfortably, anticipating what was coming next.

"Don't stay out too late tonight," Judy said, grabbing her purse and digging around inside.

"I won't, Mom. We're just going to dinner and a movie."

Judy dropped her bag and took Quinn's hand, pressing something into her palm. "I want you to take these."

Quinn glanced down at the fifty dollar bill folded around the strip of Trojan packets. Quinn flushed red and screeched, "Mom! Please, stop giving me condoms every time I go out on a date."

Her mother reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair back behind Quinn's ear. "I just want you to be prepared, Quinnie. After last time…"

"Can we please not talk about this?" Quinn cut in testily, jerking away from her mother's touch. She'd dutifully suffered through all of her mother's apologies and awkward attempts at talking about the pregnancy when she'd first moved back in, and it just got more uncomfortable every time. "Sam and I are not having sex."

Judy nodded, "I believe you, sweetie, but I want you to be safe if you…get carried away."

"That's not going to happen."  _Not with Sam_ , she silently added.

"Okay, okay. Just humor me."

"Fine," Quinn sighed and stuffed the cash and condoms in her own purse just as the doorbell rang.

"Have fun," Judy sang out.

"Yeah, we'll have a blast," she drawled, stepping outside and closing the door before her mother could start in on the safe sex lecture with Sam. She didn't need her boyfriend getting any ideas.

"Hey, babe," Sam greeted with a kiss.

Quinn flinched away after the briefest of contact. "Let's just go," she ordered, grabbing his hand and dragging him to his car.

An hour later, Quinn was sitting in a dark theater with her arms crossed while her boyfriend had one hand buried in a bucket of popcorn and another gripping a jumbo sized drink, his attention completely captivated by the movie screen. She was bored out of her mind. She didn't even really know what the stupid movie was about—some ridiculous aliens on earth, who somehow magically managed to look like underwear models and had numbers and lame ass powers, were being hunted by bad aliens. Sam told her there was romance in it, too, but the 'couple' looked more like brother and sister to Quinn. She so wasn't feeling it.

 _Wait_ …she glanced over at Sam and grimaced. The Ken and Barbie comment was making a lot more sense to her now.

After what seemed like forever, the credits finally rolled and Sam led her out of theater with a big grin on his face. "That was awesome," he gushed. "I can't wait for the sequel."

"Were we even watching the same movie?" she wondered.

Sam stopped walking, glancing down at her in disbelief. "You didn't like it?"

She raised a brow. "Seriously? The plot is recycled, the lead guy couldn't act to save his life, he had no romantic chemistry at all with his token love interest," Quinn left out the part about them looking like siblings, "and the special effects sucked. It made  _Twilight_  look like Masterpiece Theater."

"But…they were aliens," he whined.

Quinn huffed, and started for the car. "Just take me home, Sam."

"I thought we were going to Breadstix."

"I'm not really in the mood."

"Is it that time of the month, or something?" he asked.

"Oh, my God! Do you ever think before you speak?" she growled, jerking the car door open for herself when he unlocked it.

After an uncomfortable, but genuine, apology that Quinn grudgingly accepted, Sam drove her home in silence and walked her to her door. "Can I kiss you goodnight?" he had the foresight to ask, and she nodded, allowing him to move in for the obligatory kiss. Quinn tried to respond accordingly, even hoping that she'd suddenly feel some inkling of arousal as he held her, but she just felt empty—and the idea of kissing her brother just would not leave her head now.

She gently pushed Sam away and whispered, "goodnight."

Her mother was on top of her almost as soon as the door closed. "Quinnie, honey, you're home early. Is something wrong?"

Closing her eyes, she slumped back against the wall. "No, Mom. I'm just tired."

Judy frowned in concern. "Are you sure? You know, you can…you can talk to me, sweetie. I know I haven't always been there when you needed me to be, but I really want to change that."

"I know, Mom," she sighed. "It's nothing, really."

"I just want you to be happy again, Quinnie," Judy whispered, cupping her daughter's face gently.

"Was I ever?" Quinn asked in a small voice, tears of confusion and exhaustion spilling over onto her cheeks. She didn't even know what version of Quinn Fabray was real anymore: bitchy cheerleader, teen mom, or…pressed lemon. God, she couldn't even say the actual words in her head.

"Oh, baby," her mother gathered her up into her arms, and Quinn let go of her control and just wept.

•••

By lunchtime on Monday, Quinn was feeling antsy. She'd gone to church with her mother on Sunday and prayed for God to fix her. He didn't answer. Monday morning came and she had to face a dejected Sam, a scantily clad Rachel, and the nauseating sight of Finn Hudson fussing over his girlfriend's attire. Quinn had only caught sight of the couple briefly in the hallway before they'd gotten swallowed up by the crowd, but that glimpse had been enough for her to see that they were arguing, undoubtedly over Rachel's outfit if she knew Finn at all—and she did.

Now, Rachel was sitting at the diva table with Kurt and Mercedes, and Finn was apparently off working out with Sam, which left Quinn sitting across from Santana and casting furtive glances at the other table. She was in the middle of doing that when Santana's voice cut into her surveillance.

"So, Berry's looking fine today."

Quinn's head jerked back to her teammate. "Excuse me?"

Santana nodded in the direction that Quinn had just been looking. "Cute outfit, teased hair, sexy make-up—Hummel could really have a future as a personal stylist."

"He does have good taste," Quinn agreed neutrally.

"Yeah," Santana continued to study Rachel. "Hell, if she could keep her damn mouth shut for five seconds, I'd totally consider doing her."

Quinn's hand fisted tightly around her milk carton, sending the white liquid spewing out in all directions.

"Jesus, Q! Watch what you're doing," Santana growled, picking up her napkin and wiping the milk speckles off her wrist.

"What the hell do you mean you'd _do_ her?" Quinn demanded incredulously.

The girl smirked at her captain. "Okay, I know you're not  _that_ repressed."

"You're so full of shit, Santana. You don't even like her."

She shrugged a tanned shoulder. "I don't like Finn either. Didn't stop me from sleeping with him." Santana smiled wickedly, "Hey, if I pop Berry's cherry, I could totally have a matching set."

It was the second time Santana had said something to that effect, and just the thought of her touching Rachel in that way made Quinn want to slap the smirk off her arrogant face, and then claw her eyes out just for the hell of it. "Stay away from her," she warned with a menacing rumble.

Santana's smirk just grew wider. "Why do you care, Tubbers?"

"I don't," Quinn insisted.

"Liar."

Quinn stood from her seat and leaned across the table, spitting, "bitch," in Santana's face before stalking away.

"Takes one, baby," echoed across the cafeteria.

•••

"Quinn?"

"Hi," she murmured as she slid into the empty desk next to Rachel.

Rachel glanced uncertainly over her shoulder at all the empty seats behind her. "You're sitting with me?" Quinn lifted an eyebrow at the girl, and Rachel clarified, "On purpose?"

She'd expected Rachel to be surprised, but it still bothered her more than it should have. She'd been trying to be nicer, after all. "Yeah. I figured we should go over our assignment. We never really finished discussing it on Friday."

"Oh, I was prepared to handle the presentation on my own," Rachel confessed. "We did agree on the theme for the most part." The subtle inflection at the end of the statement was the only indication of Rachel's insecurity.

"We did, and I know you've probably got it covered, but at least let me read the poem, or something," Quinn insisted.

Rachel flashed a wide smile. "Agreed."

"Good." Quinn nodded, pleased that they could be so amicable with one another. They fell into a comfortable silence—for all of fifteen seconds before Rachel's natural loquaciousness won out.

"I…I thought perhaps you chose this seat in an attempt to avoid Santana."

"It may be a contributing factor," Quinn admitted dryly. She'd been aware of Rachel's eyes following her as she'd stormed out of the cafeteria at lunchtime, and she waited for the girl to press the issue. When she didn't, Quinn's patience slipped. "Okay, out with it, Berry. I know you're dying to ask what she did to piss me off."

Rachel tucked her hair behind her ear and unflinchingly met the Quinn's gaze. "While I will concede a certain level of curiosity as to the cause of your quarrel, I am aware that questioning you would likely be overstepping the fragile boundary of our tentative fr…acquaintanceship."

"Acquaintanceship? Seriously?" Quinn scoffed.

Rachel instantly turned defensive. "It's a word."

"A word no one but you would ever use in an actual conversation," Quinn pointed out good-naturedly.

"Do you have a better one?"

Quinn opened her mouth to say the word that Rachel had stopped herself from uttering, but it just wouldn't come. After another thirty seconds of awkward silence, she blurted out, "You look nice today, by the way."

_Real smooth, Fabray._

"Thanks," Rachel responded, seemingly unfazed by the abrupt change in subject. "Finn didn't think so."

"Finn's an idiot."

Rachel frowned, "Don't be mean."

"I'm being truthful and you know it," Quinn told her sharply. Rachel's boyfriend should have been telling her how amazing she looked, not making her feel bad for wanting to look pretty. He could be so thoughtless sometimes. Rachel deserved better.

"What did Santana say to upset you?" she finally asked, interrupting Quinn's thoughts.

She chuckled, "I knew you couldn't resist." Rachel blushed, and Quinn offered her a half-truth. "She was just being her usual, crass self."

"You should learn to ignore her, Quinn. Nothing irritates her more than failing to get a reaction from someone."

"Does that work for you?" she wanted to know, because logically she knew that Rachel was right, but putting that into practice always proved damn near impossible for Quinn.

"Sometimes. Mostly not," Rachel confessed. "I take consolation from the knowledge that Santana Lopez is a deeply unhappy human being."

Quinn actually laughed at that. "Wow. You think she's human?"

A smile blossomed on Rachel's lips. "I'm giving her the benefit of the doubt. After all, Brittany seems to like her."

"Brittany likes everyone, really, until Santana tells her not to," Quinn said offhandedly, studying Rachel's face a moment before finally asking the question that had been bothering her since lunch. "You'd forgive her, wouldn't you?"

"Brittany?"

"Don't be obtuse" she scolded the girl impatiently.

Rachel drew in a breath and seemed to think about how to answer. "If Santana ever offered me a sincere apology, which we both know would be the first sign of the apocalypse," they both grinned, "then yes, I would accept it. Why wouldn't I? Everyone deserves a second chance, Quinn."

"No, they don't," she muttered, thinking of her own sins as much as (probably more than) Santana's. "You shouldn't be so quick to forgive everyone, Rachel."

"And you shouldn't be so reluctant to…wait," Rachel said abruptly, looking at Quinn with widening eyes. "Did you just call me Rachel?"

"Yeah, so?" She was pretty certain she'd done it before once or twice.

Rachel shook her head in wonder. "It's just…you hardly ever do that without adding an insult to it somewhere."

_Hah! Hardly isn't never. I knew I'd called her by her name before._

"It was a slip of the tongue. Don't get used to it, Berry," Quinn teased.

Rachel's smile was blinding. "I won't, Fabray."

•••

Quinn had to admit, having Rachel Berry for a partner was good for one's grade point average. No wonder Tina didn't really mind it. Ms. Fischer might dread the quantity of the girl's verbal dissertations, but there was no denying she adored the quality. An A++ and a ton of effusive praise (and was Rachel's vocabulary contagious?) on their poetry assignment contributed greatly to Quinn's good mood as she entered the choir room. She plopped down in the back row next to Mercedes and Kurt, and purposely away from Sam. She still didn't know what to do about their disastrous date on Saturday and her now glaringly obvious lack of attraction to him. Her already slipping mood dimmed considerably more when Rachel walked in with a happy smile and a hand tucked securely into Finn's.

"Good afternoon, fellow glee clubbers," she chirped.

"Woah, you are one smoking hot Jew, Berry," Puck called out, and Quinn watched Finn's face begin to color.

"Don't call my girlfriend hot!"

Puck held up his hands and tipped his chair back on two legs. "Hey, I'm just stating fact."

Finn angrily turned to Rachel and dropped her hand. "See! I told you," he flung his arm toward Puck. " _This_  is why you shouldn't dress all sexy and stuff."

The girl's face fell, and she suddenly looked on the verge of tears. Quinn seriously wanted to get up and punch her stupid ex-boyfriend, then knee Puck in the balls for good measure.

"Get over yourself, Finnsecure," Santana sneered. "Berry's not your freaking personal property."

Quinn glared at Santana, unreasonably angry that she was suddenly defending Rachel. Finn ignored the comment, still frowning down at his girlfriend. "I just don't want guys drooling over you like you're a piece of meat."

"Not just the guys," Santana informed him with a smirk. Everyone looked at her dumbly, and she shrugged. "What? It's true."

"Totally," Brittany agreed, turning to rub Artie's shoulder soothingly when he squeaked in protest.

"Well, I for one think she looks fabulous," Kurt added haughtily.

"You would," Finn accused his step-brother.

"Finn, stop it," Rachel hissed under her breath. "Can we please talk about this later…in private?"

"Good afternoon, guys," Mr. Schue interrupted as he breezed in, impeccable timing as always. Rachel and Finn broke apart and sat on opposite ends of the front row, and Quinn smiled in satisfaction, her mood lifting just a little at the distance between them.

She really was a selfish person.


	15. Missing The Life You Had

**Missing the Life You Had**

Rachel was seething and it was all Finn Hudson's fault. She'd been in high spirits when she'd walked into school that morning, still buzzing with blissful energy from the weekend. Her Friday night shopping trip with Kurt had improved tenfold with the addition of Mercedes and Quinn, and she'd had a shockingly wonderful time. For once, things with Mercedes hadn't felt strained, and Quinn…well, Quinn was Quinn, but every little hard earned inroad that Rachel made with her felt better than the rush she'd gotten singing  _Don't Rain On My Parade_ at Sectionals last year.

She was choosing not to spend too much time thinking about her reaction to seeing Quinn in those blue jeans, or that little, fizzy feeling that bubbled in her stomach every time Quinn actually smiled at her—genuine, joyful smiles, not the fake, scheming smirks that had appeared so often in the past. Honestly, Rachel thought she just might have seen Quinn smile more in the last few days than in all the years that she'd known the girl.

She'd gone home Friday with a smile on her own face that had helped both her dads to completely ignore the size of the credit card bill that she'd run up. It was hardly a secret to them that she didn't have many friends, and they both worried about her because of that fact, often overcompensating by giving her nearly everything she asked for in regards to music and dance lessons and material items. She even had a karaoke stage in her basement. Her lack of companionship amongst her peers had also contributed to her dads being exceptionally lenient when she invited boyfriends to the house—well, there were rules in place that she abided when they were home, and rules that she bent when they weren't, but what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. Needless to say, they'd been thrilled when Kurt arrived on the scene with a genuine offer of friendship that seemed to be proving solid. Thanks in no small part to him, the whole weekend had just been…well, awesome.

Even her date with Finn on Saturday had been better than usual. Of course, that could be because he'd come over to her house to watch a  _Harry Potter_  movie marathon—a guilty pleasure that they  _both_  actually enjoyed—and they'd sat side by side on the sofa eating (vegan) snack food (of which Finn had remained unaware) while watching good triumph over evil. Really, their wonderful afternoon was more friendly than romantic, but she hadn't minded. They'd shared a few kisses between movies, but neither one of them had felt the need to engage in a heated make out session, and Rachel had been somewhat relieved.

But today—today she just wanted to stuff his stupid Letterman jacket right into his big, fat mouth. They'd started the day with a redundant argument over her outfit where his insecurities had been on full, unattractive display. Admittedly, she'd been hesitant to wear the sexier clothes even though it had seemed like a wonderful idea when she'd bought them, but ultimately, she'd ignored her second thoughts in favor of wanting to feel pretty and desirable again.

And Quinn had seemed to like the look on her.

Quinn had also chosen to sit next to her in sixth period, and they had deepened their… _acquaintanceship_. Rachel smiled despite her anger at Finn, remembering how lovely her given name had sounded in Quinn's breathy, sexy voice.

_Very inappropriate thoughts to be having right now, Rachel. Concentrate on your righteous indignation and whatever you do, stop grinning like a besotted fool._

"So, who wants to go first?" Mr. Schue asked in his typically enthusiastic manner.

"I gots this," Santana volunteered, stepping down the risers and winking in Rachel's general direction. The action made her more than a little uncomfortable, and not in the pleasant, tingly way that happened when Quinn…

_Stop it._

When the trumpets blared out a big band sound, Rachel finally had an excuse for her relentless smile. Apparently, Kurt had given Santana a lesson in Broadway, too.

" _The minute you walked in the joint,_  
I could see you were a man of distinction,  
 _A real big spender,"_

Santana flirtatiously tugged on Mr. Schuester's tie as she moved past him.

" _Good looking, so refined,"_

She started weaving through the chairs and trailing her hands over every boy she passed.

_"Say, wouldn't you like to know_  
 _what's going on in my mind?_  
 _So, let me get right to the point,_  
 _I don't pop my cork for every guy I see,"_

She plopped down into a surprised Sam's lap, and Rachel glanced nervously back at Quinn, wondering what her reaction would be. Quinn didn't look happy, but she also didn't look like she was about to pop a vein like she had when she'd stormed out of the cafeteria earlier.

" _Hey, big spender, spend...a little time with...me..."_

Mercedes and Tina joined in with the backing vocals, and Santana relinquished her position to show off her sultry choreography.

_"Do you wanna have fun?_  
 _How's about a few laughs?_  
 _I can show you a...good time…"_

Rachel found herself greatly admiring Santana's performance. Yes, it was sexually charged, and the girl seemed unhealthily focused on Sam—and she wondered if that's what had upset Quinn at lunch—but the song was perfectly suited to Santana's voice, and well…entire persona, really. She was clapping fervently at the end along with everyone else.

"Great job, Santana," Mr. Schue said as the girl sat next to Sam with an inviting grin, "Although your…ah…choreography was a little…much," he finished meekly. "Who's next?"

Brittany raised her hand.

"Alright, Brittany," he smiled encouragingly. "You have the floor."

"Why would I want the floor? It's kind of gross. I just want to sing now."

"Ah, okay," he tried again.

Rachel prided herself on her vast musical knowledge and ability to remember every song she'd ever heard—after all, one never knew when the need would arise to belt out an impromptu solo (Sectionals anyone?)—but when the music began, it still took her a few beats to recognize the song because she hadn't heard it in quite some time. She quickly ran through the lyrics that she remembered and realized with a start what Brittany was about to do. Santana was not going to be happy.

_"You are sultry, dirty, soft and hard._  
 _You are close to me and you're so far,_  
 _and I'm thinking of the time we spent together._  
 _Now I'll bury this in my backyard._  
 _Sometimes I sit and wonder,"_

Brittany pointed up to Santana.

_"But I'll never dial your number_  
 _'cause I'm having fun_  
 _looking out for number one._  
 _And I'm doing all the things I like to do._  
 _I'm having fun_  
 _'cause I knew it all along,_  
 _I'd be better off without you."_

As always, watching Brittany move was mesmerizing, and she worked the room like a pro right up until she mimicked Santana's earlier choreography and sat in Sam's lap. The boy looked surprised, but Brittany wasn't really paying attention to him. She was turned sideways facing Santana and the other girl looked positively murderous.

_"You are guilty, pretty, high and low._  
 _You're a place to stay and a time to go._  
 _And I'm searching through the things you left behind here._  
 _Now it's time for me to let it go._  
 _Sometimes I sit and wonder,"_

She jumped up and turned her back on her best friend.

_"but I'll never dial that number_  
 _'cause I'm having fun_  
 _looking out for number one._  
 _And I'm doing all the things I like to do._  
 _I'm having fun_  
 _'cause I knew it all along,_  
 _I'd be better off without you."_

_"Late at night you pick up the telephone._  
 _Call me up and cry 'cause you're all alone. I don't care._  
 _Apologize for taking my cigarettes_  
 _Now it's time to feel all the side effects,_  
 _Missing the life you had."_

Again, Rachel was impressed, not only by Brittany's surprisingly strong voice, but by her use of song to deliver a heartfelt message—a tactic Rachel had used on many occasions. Perhaps she was not as universally ignored by her fellow glee clubbers as she had been led to believe. She rewarded Brittany with enthusiastic applause. Mercedes, Kurt, Quinn, and Noah were equally enthusiastic, she noted, however, Mike, Tina, Finn and Sam were more reserved, undoubtedly fearing Santana's wrath. Poor Artie clapped for his girlfriend but looked utterly confused and maybe a little worried.

And Santana, well, she executed a (near) perfect storm-out. No one went after her.

Rachel sighed, feeling her sense of empathy rear its ugly head. Hadn't she just had a discussion with Quinn regarding Santana's humanity? She glanced over at Noah, thinking that he should follow his—not-girlfriend? Friend with benefits? Sex buddy? What was the correct terminology?

Noah wasn't moving.

Brittany was back beside Artie clutching his hand, and despite her obvious, sad expression, she didn't seem inclined to make amends with Santana just yet.

Quinn…was not going to be any help.

Santana had been quick to point out that nobody in glee really liked Rachel, but it appeared that the same applied to her as well. Rachel had been the person whom no one cared about enough to chase after, on more than one occasion, and she didn't wish that on her worst enemy—who frankly, had been  _Santana_ more than Quinn since the start of junior year. Resigned, she dropped her feet to the floor and stood. "Excuse me," she muttered to Mr. Schue as she headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Quinn called out, surprising everyone.

"To search for signs of the apocalypse," Rachel replied, referring to their earlier conversation. Everyone looked at her strangely except for Quinn, who knew exactly what she meant, and she stood up, hurrying down the risers.

"I'll do it," she grumbled as she passed by Rachel.

"As captain, I feel it's my duty…"

Quinn stopped her with a hard glare. "You really think you can handle a pissed off Santana?"

Rachel licked her lips. "On second thought, you are probably better suited to this particular task."

"Thought so," she stated as she disappeared through the door.

Rachel returned to her seat, motioned for Mr. Schuester to carry on and tried very hard to smother her smile.

 

•••

Quinn didn't know what in the hell had possessed her to come looking for Santana Lopez. Well, that wasn't true, she  _did_  know. The reason was short and loud and completely impossible to ignore. Since when did Rachel give a crap about Santana's feelings anyway? If she'd just kept her (cute) little butt in her chair and let glee continue on without making noises about going after Santana (who had never been anything but nasty to everyone) then Quinn could still be there riding out the effects her good mood instead of hunting down her surly second-in-command. Stupid protective urges!

So yeah, Brittany's little _fuck you_  had been way harsh, and Quinn was kind of curious about what had provoked it. The two had been alternately on and off with their friendship ever since Brittany had started dating Artie. Santana would say something bitchy and Brittany would ignore her for a few days and then the two would go back to linking pinkies and whispering in their secret codes like nothing was wrong. Rinse and repeat.

She thought back to what Brittany had told her last week. Santana calling her boyfriend a loser and telling her to dump him was probably a pretty good reason for her to be mad, but she knew there had to be more to the story. Brittany singing her feelings in glee was surprisingly new (a page from Rachel's script) and maybe going a little too far. Quinn grimaced, immediately recognizing her hypocrisy. The song she'd picked for Rachel had been far worse. Was that really just six days ago? Now she was apparently doing whatever Rachel asked—okay, if she was being painfully honest, maybe  _that_  had been happening for a lot longer than a week.

She checked the parking lot first, figuring Santana would have gone home and she'd be off the hook—free to go back to the choir room and feign regret that she couldn't find the girl—but no, the little red convertible mustang (Santana was so freaking spoiled) was still parked right where it always was. Quinn heaved a sigh and headed for the cheerios' locker room.

She heard Santana before she saw her—quiet sniffling punctuated with intermittent metallic bangs. Quinn cringed, really hoping that Santana wasn't punching the lockers again. Last time Coach Sylvester found a dent, she'd placed the whole squad on a twenty-four hour steak-out along the 309 with buckets and signs collecting for 'Sue's Angels.' Quinn never wanted to have to fleece the good citizens of Lima again.

She came to the end of the row and leaned against the lockers, crossing her arms and quietly clearing her throat. Santana stiffened immediately, straightening her spine and turning fully away from Quinn as she discreetly wiped her eyes. "What the fuck do you want, Juno?" she growled, any trace of possible tears eradicated from her angry tone.

"I want a lot of things—to get the hell out of Lima, a cure for stretch marks, for you to stop bringing up my pregnancy at every opportunity," Santana turned to glare at her, and Quinn shrugged, "to be happy for once."

"You're too much of a coward to be happy, Q," Santana spat.

Quinn pushed off the locker. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Santana smiled cruelly, stepping into her captain's personal space. "We both know you're a slave to your fucking perfect image. All-American, Barbie-doll cheerleader with the perfect, varsity boyfriend and the perfect grades. You talk shit about being a powerful, independent woman, but that's all it ever is… _talk._ Even when you lost it all last year and had the chance to really start over, you still went back to being exactly who you were before you got yourself knocked up. You're too afraid of what people will say if you ever just do whatever the hell it is that actually  _makes you happy_ ," she finished with a finger poked into Quinn's chest.

With a shove, she sent Santana stumbling back into the lockers. "Shut, The. Fuck. Up. You don't know anything about me."

The Latina actually laughed in her face, "Ooh, the F-word. I must have really hit a nerve, huh?"

Quinn jerked back. Santana had hit a lot of nerves, actually, but she wasn't about to admit that. "I don't know why I even bothered coming after you. If you act anything like this with Brittany, then she's definitely better off without you."

Her back hit the locker behind her with a thud, knocking the breath out of her, and Santana's hands pressed hard into her shoulders. "Don't you bring her into this. What happens between me and Brit is none of your damn business."

Quinn gulped in some much needed air when Santana finally released her punishing grip. She rubbed at her shoulder absently. "You're the coward, Santana. You hide behind insults and hate so no one will get close enough to realize that you're just a scared, lonely, little girl who wants someone to love her."

A humorless bark of laughter escaped Santana. "Look in the fucking mirror sometime, Fabray."

Santana slumped back against the lockers opposite from Quinn, arms crossed and face hard. Quinn stared her down, hating the fact that everything that Santana said had been the truth. "You know, eventually Brittany will forgive you for whatever the hell you did this time, just like she always does," she pushed, not really caring right now if she pissed off Santana even more.

"Why do you automatically assume that I'm to blame?" Quinn just gave her  _the look_. "Fine," she admitted scathingly, "I'm a bitch. Whatever." Santana looked down at the floor. "It's just…she never really has time for me anymore and I fucking hate it."

"So fix it," Quinn said flatly, trying not to feel sorry for the girl.

"Like it's just that easy."

"It could be. Just let her be happy with Artie and don't make her choose between you."

Santana erupted in laughter again—the scary, slightly deranged kind. "You think this is about  _Wheels_?" she finally managed.

"Isn't it?" Quinn asked in confusion.

"It's never been about  _him_ ," Santana said evasively. She pushed off the lockers and took a few steps toward the exit. "You know that mirror thing, Q?" she asked rhetorically, eyes locked on the doorway so she couldn't see Quinn's silent acknowledgment, "we really are too much alike," and she left without looking back.

 

•••

Quinn sank down on the bench in the locker room instead of heading back to glee. She kept replaying everything Santana said about her being afraid, about them being the same. As much as she hated to admit it, she knew Santana was right. It was one of the reasons that the two of them always clashed so badly. If Santana couldn't (wouldn't) risk her reputation for sweet, popular Brittany, then how could Quinn even contemplate the possibility for…?

She couldn't.

Quinn was still there when the final bell rang and the rest of the cheerios started filing in for after school practice. Unsurprisingly, Santana wasn't among them. Brittany timidly asked Quinn if she'd talked to Santana, but Quinn knew the next question would be if she was okay, and Quinn didn't really have an answer for that, so she lied and told Brittany that she hadn't found Santana. She made an excuse to Coach Sylvester about the girl getting sick in glee, causing the woman to go off on a ten minute rant about the infectious germs that infested Mr. Schuester's hair, and Quinn had been forced to stand there and listen to every word.

That night, in the quiet of her room, she laid in her bed and stared out into the darkness and wished, once again, for all her wrong feelings to just go away—denying them hadn't worked, acting on them wasn't an option, so that only left ignoring them. And ignoring Rachel. She could do that.

She had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Songs:**   
>  _"Hey Big Spender," from Sweet Charity_   
>  _"Better Off Without You," performed by the Clarks (2000)_


	16. Switzerland

**Switzerland**

By Friday, Kurt was at his wits end. Operation Cupid (or Kitty, as Brittany still insisted on calling it) had been going along swimmingly until Tuesday, and then…complete and utter stagnation.  _No_ —stagnation would have left his girls in the friend zone, which, while not his optimum outcome, would have been better than the tension filled void they were currently occupying.

The first warning had come Tuesday morning during second period when Rachel had offhandedly mentioned that Quinn seemed distracted, an opinion based solely on her failure to return Rachel's friendly smile as they'd passed in the hallway. Kurt had thought nothing of it, being able to count on one hand (not even using all of his fingers) the number of times that Quinn Fabray smiled during a typical day at school.

The second warning had come at lunch, when Quinn hadn't even looked in Rachel's direction once. He'd been tracking her eye-sex habit since Santana had first mentioned it being Quinn's favorite lunchtime activity, and its absence on that day was concerning, but not yet alarming.

There hadn't been a third warning, just Rachel going off on a hyperbole filled rant on Wednesday morning about Quinn Fabray's obvious multiple personality disorder and how attempting to navigate her moods was giving Rachel whiplash. A status check with Tina had confirmed that,  _yes_ , Quinn and Rachel had exchanged a few terse words before the start of Literature class on Tuesday that roughly translated to Quinn disclaiming any semblance to an actual friendship with Rachel, and Rachel being hurt and disappointed.

Every interaction between the two after that had consisted of avoidance and silence. Lunch period for three days?—Quinn sitting at her table, facing away from Rachel, and never turning her head once. Glee on Wednesday and Thursday?—Quinn in the far back corner reading a book and not participating except when forced by Mr. Schuester. And Rachel on each of these occasions?—unusually quiet and reserved to the point that their glee club director had actually needed to prompt her to sing a solo.

Mercedes wasn't able to get any explanation out of Quinn, just an insistence that while she didn't hate Rachel, she also didn't want to spend any more time with the girl than was absolutely necessary. Rachel had been a little more vocal (of course) with Kurt, but she was clueless as to what had happened. She'd admitted to thinking she'd been on the cusp of forming a friendship with Quinn, but that Quinn obviously just didn't care enough to associate with someone so far beneath her on the McKinley social ladder.

Rachel was wounded and throwing herself back into her relationship with Finn.

Quinn was…just there, frowning and taking up space. It was really depressing.

When analyzing the evidence, Kurt had come to the conclusion that everything had started to go downhill after Quinn left glee on Monday to chase down Santana. She had informed Brittany that her mission had ended in failure, but their surly Latin cohort had made herself suspiciously scarce this week and would neither confirm nor deny Quinn's story. Santana had been skipping out on lunches for the last four days, and every time he came near her in the hallways between classes, she was conveniently carrying an extra-large slushie cup and wearing a scowl that promised she wouldn't hesitate to treat him to a complimentary facial. Kurt was fed up with the whole situation, so he skipped out on the cafeteria scene and went in search of the elusive girl. She wasn't in the locker room, the choir room or the auditorium. Playing a hunch, he found her lazing at the top of the bleachers in the gymnasium, watching the freshmen boys shoot baskets.

"Go away, Hummel," she said, never taking her eyes from the court when he settled down next to her.

"Not until you tell me what you did to single-handedly undo all of our progress."

She tipped her head back against the wall behind them and stared up at the lights. "Are you really delusional enough to think you made any  _progress_? One class project and a shopping trip and they didn't rip each other's hair out. Big fucking whoop."

He crossed his arms and his legs. "They were talking. Now they're not. You obviously said or did something to make Quinn run," he insisted.

Her head jerked down and over to him, and she leaned in closer so her voice wouldn't echo through the gym. "Newsflash, Glitter Boy. Quinn Fabray  _always_  runs when shit gets too real. Runs, hides, lies, cheats, manipulates. She's the fucking queen of McKinley, and she's never gonna come out and wave her rainbow flag. Especially not for Rachel 'Man Hands' Berry. Understand?"

Kurt clenched his jaw and blinked, choking back his disappointment. It wasn't as if he hadn't known that Quinn would be a tough nut to crack—or lemon to unpress, or whatever colorful euphemism Santana could come up with—it was just that Quinn had shown so much potential last Friday, and again on Monday. There had been flirting and coy looks and sweet smiles and inside jokes, and Quinn had seemed so light and happy for a change. And Rachel had, too. He'd seen with his own eyes how perfect they could be together if they would just stop fighting it. He knew it seemed crazy and unlikely that they'd ever actually fall into some epic romance, but he couldn't just give up on the possibility.

Maybe he  _was_  just being as selfish as Santana had claimed at the start of this, wanting the popular head cheerleader to be out and proud so that he could… _what_? Be a part of her big gay posse? Bask in the purple glow of her lesbian radiance. Convince her to impose a zero tolerance policy here at McKinley? Quinn Fabray didn't have that much power. Not even Sue Sylvester had been able to manage a bully-free environment when she'd been sitting behind the principal's desk.

Kurt knew how hard it was to be a gay teenager in a predominately homophobic high school, and he really didn't want anyone else to be forced to suffer through the same torment that he'd experienced at the hands of Dave Karofsky, and still did to a lesser degree from the other assholes in this school, but it had been even harder to try and pretend that he was anything else but gay. And Quinn was obviously struggling now…far more than Rachel.

"Even so," he finally said, voice level and composed, "there isn't any reason why they shouldn't become friends…"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" she growled. "They will  _never_ be friends, Hummel. Just because Q's playing it straight doesn't mean she's a freakin' masochist. Berry makes her panties wet, for some insane, incomprehensible reason," and Kurt visibly blanched at Santana's crassness. "Do you really think they can just do girly crap together, like cuddling on the couch and watching movies, or trying on clothes, or, God forbid, having sleepovers? I can see it now— _oops, sorry, Rach, I didn't mean put my tongue on your boob, it was a total accident_!" Santana chirped in a mock saccharine tone.

Kurt held up a hand to stop her. "Okay, one—never mention Quinn's tongue and Rachel's…breasts in the same sentence again," he grimaced, "and two—I don't think you're giving them enough credit."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Okay…then why don't you tell me, Hummel? How's that  _friendship_  with you and  _Blaine_  going?"

Kurt didn't have a snappy retort for that. He obviously wanted more, which made every moment with Blaine both heaven and hell. Okay, maybe Santana actually had a point. Then again, "I'd rather have him as a friend than not at all."

Her brow furrowed and she looked at him like he was wearing flannel and a trucker cap. "Are you being serious? 'Cause that sappy Hallmark shit ain't flying with me."

"I am perfectly serious, Santana," he told her, then watched her carefully for signs of danger when he asked, "Wouldn't you feel the same about Brittany?"

She tensed, fingers curling hard around the edge of the bench until her knuckles turned white, but to his great relief, she didn't make any moves to physically attack him. "Don't go there," she warned lowly.

He nodded in acknowledgment. "I'm sorry," he said gently, meaning his apology to be about her falling out with Brittany as much as it was about him provoking Santana. "I'm just not quite ready to admit failure. It's exhausting watching Quinn brood and Rachel fawn over Finn, and don't even get me started on those horrible granny dresses and too bright tights she's back to wearing."

"Yeah, those are gross," Santana agreed, relaxing a little beside him. "Have you ever noticed that Berry's granny style is like a way less attractive version of Quinn's?" she wondered out loud.

Kurt laughed, "Yes. I think it's because, beneath the obvious surface differences, they actually have a lot in common."

"That's just so wrong," she mumbled, crossing her arms and leaning back against the wall again.

He leaned against the wall too, turning to look at Santana. "So, are you back in the fold?"

"Jesus, what are we, the gay fucking mafia?"

He rolled his eyes and deadpanned, "Yes, Santana, and if you please me, you may kiss my ring," he held his hand in front of her face. She slapped it away.

"And you can kiss my a—"

"Lopez, Hummel…get out of my gym and get to class," Coach Beiste yelled up at them.

They both froze, looking down at the woman fearfully. Santana gave Kurt a gentle shove, "Get moving, Fairy Godfather."

 

•••

When Kurt arrived in the choir room later that afternoon, he found Quinn sitting in the back row next to Santana, and Rachel standing beside the piano talking quietly with Tina. They wouldn't even acknowledge one another, but that didn't dissipate the suffocating tension that filled any room that they both happened to be in. He was still turning over ideas for remedying that awkward situation, even going as far as to consider Santana's throwaway joke about a sleepover. The problem was in the planning, because he couldn't really see all the glee girls hanging out together in their pajamas without multiple catfights breaking out—and it would have to be  _all_ of them to have any hope of getting both Rachel and Quinn to attend. He wasn't particularly eager to spend an entire night with Santana.

Unfortunately, or perhaps not-so-unfortunately as he would later come to think, Finn interrupted his silent scheming by pounding into the room, red-faced and angry, slamming his hands down on the piano lid and shouting at Rachel. "What were you doing with Puck?"

Kurt was semi-conscious of several things that seemed to happen at once. Tina instantly retreated away from the piano and back toward the risers, and Mike stood from his chair and stepped forward in a protective stance. Quinn tensed and perched on the edge of her seat, as if she was ready to pounce, but Santana's hand over her forearm stilled her.

Rachel flinched and cowered a little as her boyfriend loomed over her. She appeared confused for a moment before comprehension overtook her expression, and she finally breathed out, "Nothing. We were merely talking," she explained with only the slightest waver in her voice.

"Is that what you're calling it now? Jewfro told me you were holding his hand and looking cozy!" he accused her, flinging a beefy arm in her direction.

Kurt glanced around the room again, looking for the boy in question, only to realized belatedly that Puck was nowhere to be found. Well, wasn't that just perfect? If he insisted on causing trouble, he could at least be around to witness the fallout.

"Why would you listen to anything that little pervert has to say?" Rachel asked him sharply.

Finn's brow furrowed, and he hesitated. "So it isn't true?"

"Noah is my friend, Finn," she told him unabashedly, placing her own hands on top of the piano and squaring her shoulders. "We were discussing something very personal, and offering one another comfort."

Kurt cringed, knowing that Rachel generally wasn't one to outright lie—at least when she wasn't scheming to get her way in glee—but conceding that she probably should have at least picked a better way to phrase her answer.

"Like he  _comforted_  you before Christmas?" Finn spat.

"That was a mistake. You said you forgave me," Rachel cried.

"Just be honest with me!" he yelled, then pushed a big hand through his hair, obviously trying to calm himself down. "God, you keep doing this," he muttered.

"I didn't do anything," she pleaded with him to believe her. They were still standing on opposite sides of the piano, and Rachel reached out in an attempt to touch the hand he'd left resting on top, but he jerked it away as if she'd burned him.

"You cheated! You keep going off and having all these moments with  _Puck_!" he charged heatedly. "I can't keep going through this, Rachel."

Kurt watched her draw a shaky breath and look down at the piano. "You can't…?" she trailed off quietly in a voice radiating with hurt. Her shoulders started to quiver, and Kurt stood up and stepped forward, ready to comfort her and tell his stepbrother to back off, but then Rachel snapped her head up and her eyes flashed with fire. "You know what… _I_   _can't! I_  can't keep doing this," she yelled back at him. "I've supported you, and encouraged you, and done everything that I can think of to be a good girlfriend to you. And all you've ever done is complain about my shortcomings, and tell me that my ideas are crazy, and make me feel bad about everything that makes me  _me_ ," she slapped her closed fist over her heart, then flung that same hand out and pointed at him accusingly. "You are a hypocrite, Finn Hudson, and I don't want to be in a relationship with you anymore."

"Holy shit," Santana muttered disbelievingly from the risers. Kurt briefly glanced her way, seeing her mouth hanging open, and Quinn…well, she had a death grip on the chair in front of her and her eyes locked onto Rachel.

Finn took a step back. "Are you…are you breaking up with me?" he asked incredulously.

"Well look who finally caught up," Rachel drawled sarcastically. "Yes, Finn. I, Rachel Berry, am breaking up with you," she enunciated carefully, tipping her chin back and holding her head high. "Perhaps one day we can be friends again, but right now, I really don't like you very much."

Finn curled his fists and took a sidestep around the piano and toward Rachel, causing both Kurt and Mike to do the same, but he stopped his advance when Sam stood up and told him, "I wouldn't, man."

The boy turned abruptly and kicked the piano bench over before he tore out of the room, leaving everyone frozen in place, completely silent as they processed what they'd just witnessed. Rachel stood proudly at the piano with Kurt, Mike and Sam forming a strange, protective shield around her.

Of course it was Santana who broke the spell by leaning back in her chair and joyfully calling out, "Hell, yeah! It's about damn time."

Quinn turned and slapped her arm. "Shut up," she hissed.

Kurt closed the short distance to his friend and touched her shoulder gently "Rachel?" Her rigid posture sagged immediately and she crumbled into his arms, burrowing her face into his throat and snuggling into his comforting embrace. From his position, he could see Quinn staring down at him with a look of concern coloring her features. He met her eyes, and she glanced away uncertainly before looking back and pinning him with a meaningful gaze. Kurt nodded imperceptibly at her, and ran a soothing hand up and down Rachel's back. "Sweetie," he cooed.

"I'm okay," she told him quietly, pulling away. "But, I…I think I just want to go home now."

He nodded, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. "I'll drive you."

 

•••

When Kurt got home, it was almost five o'clock. He'd stayed with Rachel for more than an hour and listened to her rant and cry and second guess her decision to break up with Finn over a carton of Coconut Craze dairy free ice cream. By the time he finally left, she'd seemed content with her newly single status and refocused on her own ambition—which actually made Kurt a little leery because generally speaking, an ambitious Rachel teetered very near the edge of crazy and unbearable. Still, he couldn't help but be a proud of her for finally rediscovering her self-respect, because allowing her strong personality to disappear into Finn's extra dopey one had been kind of pathetic. The end of Finchel had been long overdue.

A fact that made Kurt's encounter with a hurt and angry Finn decidedly awkward. His stepbrother was slouched down staring vacantly at the television when he walked in. He sighed and sat down on the far end of the couch.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked in an attempt to be supportive.

Finn shrugged in response.

"Well, if you do…"

"How stupid am I that I keep picking girls who cheat on me?" Finn cut in.

"Is that a rhetorical question?" Kurt wondered out loud. He could never really tell with Finn.

"Is she going to go start dating Puck now?" Finn asked instead.

Kurt shook his head. "Finn, I understand that you're upset, but Rachel did not break up with you to date Puck. She broke up with you because your relationship was unhealthy and dysfunctional and frankly, you brought out the absolute worst in one another."

Finn pushed off the couch and snapped, "I should have guessed you'd be on her side," before he thundered off to his bedroom.

"I'm not on anyone's side," he shouted at Finn's retreating back. "I'm Switzerland." The bedroom door slammed, and Kurt shrugged and picked up the remote to turn off ESPN in favor of Style. "Okay, so maybe I'm Team Faberry," he admitted with a smirk.


	17. A Friend

**A Friend**

"Jesus F Christ, Q, if you don't stop bouncing the freaking table I'm gonna bounce you on your ass."

Quinn jerked her eyes to Santana. "Watch your mouth," she scolded.

" _Hijo de puta_ ," Santana growled and kicked Quinn's leg under the table, effectively stilling the hyperactive energy that had Quinn literally vibrating in her seat for the last ten minutes.

"Ouch!" She reached down and rubbed at her abused shin. "What the hell?"

"I warned you," Santana reminded her with a smug smile.

"I liked it better when you were skipping lunch," Quinn muttered.

"Better than Berry skipping it, anyway," Santana taunted with a raised eyebrow.

Quinn flushed in embarrassment. Maybe she did keep glancing over at the other table in the hopes that Rachel would suddenly appear, but Santana didn't need to call her out on it. She'd been doing so well with the whole ignoring thing until Friday.

She glanced to her right, scowling at Finn who was back at their table talking to Sam like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't acted like a total asshole and lost his temper and looked frighteningly close to hitting Rachel. Quinn still wanted to punch him.

And maybe Sam, too.

Her  _boyfriend_  had spent most of the weekend with Finn because he'd wanted to support his friend. Quinn could respect that, but she'd been floored when Sam had come out of his male bonding time actually defending Finn and implying that Rachel might really have been cheating on her boyfriend with Puck. As if she'd be foolish enough to do that a second time. They'd all been sitting right there when she'd denied it and basically told Finn that he was a crappy boyfriend. Finn had never appreciated Rachel when he had her, and she was so much better off without him.

And, God, she needed to stop that line of thought right now.

Rachel's relationship status didn't change anything. Except, apparently, the girl's normal daily routine. She hadn't been practicing in the auditorium this morning like she usually did (not that Quinn had been looking specifically for Rachel, she'd just been passing by and decided to stop) and she hadn't followed her typical between class route through the hallways (not that Quinn had memorized her schedule or anything) and now she wasn't eating lunch with Kurt and Mercedes. It was entirely possible that Rachel was in the choir room. Maybe Quinn should check that out before…

_No, not doing that._

Besides, Rachel wouldn't skip class, so Quinn would certainly see her sixth period and again in glee. She could resume ignoring her then—after she saw with her own eyes that Rachel was okay, because picking up her phone over the weekend and actually calling her had been impossible. Really—physically impossible. Quinn had reached for it time and time again, had even gotten the first six numbers entered on two separate occasions, but she physically could not dial Rachel's number without feeling like she was about to pass out. So she'd given up and decided to just wait until they saw one another at school. Except they day was halfway over and she hadn't seen her yet!

Quinn stopped by her locker between fifth and sixth period, tossing in most of her things and quickly grabbing her book so that she could get to Literature. Before she could finish, she was approached by a nervous little freshman cheerio, a petite redhead with big, blue eyes—Cindy, or Cathy, or Candy, or…

"Cady, right?" Quinn finally said.

"Y-yes."

Quinn mentally snickered—like she was really  _that_  scary. She smiled in an attempt to be more welcoming, but by the way Cady swallowed, Quinn suspected that her grin was more of the  _hurry-the-hell-up-before-I-lose-my-patience_ variety. She really needed to work on that. "Can I help you with something?" she asked evenly.

Cady held up a note. "I'm supposed to give this to you."

Quinn eyed the little piece of yellow paper suspiciously, but took it nevertheless, and the second it was in her hand Cady scurried away. She shook her head and considered having the girl do a few hundred crunches next practice just for the hell of it. She opened the note and read the one sentence message.

_Meet me in the Home Ec room after sixth. ~A friend._

The hell?

Quinn didn't recognize the writing, and she couldn't think of anyone who'd give her such a cryptic note. Sam, possibly, if he was trying to be mysterious and romantic, but she'd be seeing him in glee so that didn't really make sense. Maybe it was one of her cheerios, like shy little Cady herself, looking for a private conversation, although the locker room would have made more sense for that. Maybe it was… No, Rachel wouldn't have signed it 'a friend' after Quinn had made it clear that they wouldn't be. She crumpled up the little piece of paper and tossed it into the bottom of her locker, undecided on whether or not she'd follow its instruction.

She arrived a little later than she'd intended to American Literature, but quickly realized that being early wouldn't have mattered today because  _Rachel_ wasn't there yet. The girl was always one of the first people to arrive in that class, and her absence made Quinn wonder if Rachel was even in school today. She sat in her usual seat, leg bouncing again with nervous energy as she waited. Santana strolled in and sank into the chair next to her, her dark eyes immediately narrowing as she glanced down at Quinn's leg.

"Don't make me kick you again," she threatened, and Quinn forced herself to sit still.

The late bell was just ringing when Rachel flew into the room and dove into her seat, slightly breathless and disheveled, and Quinn felt some of her tension finally slide away. Rachel appeared a little flustered maybe but not too badly out of sorts. She looked very nice in a navy blue skirt and soft periwinkle sweater, and when she glanced over and smiled at Tina, it wasn't sad or forced at all like it had been after Christmas.

Quinn knew she should be satisfied that Rachel looked okay, should just go back to her plan to ignore the girl, but she felt like she at least needed to say  _something_ _—_ to express a general concern for Rachel's well-being. That would be the proper thing to do, after all. Of course, Rachel Berry  _would_  thwart even Quinn's good intentions by jumping up the second the bell rang at the end of class and rushing out of the room as quickly as she'd rushed in.

Quinn grabbed her book and started to head for the choir room, but then she remembered that stupid note and growled under her breath. "I'll catch up," she told Santana, who just shrugged and kept walking.

Quinn was tempted to just skip the whole mystery meet and greet in favor of finally talking to Rachel, but her natural curiosity just wouldn't let her. When she got to the Home Ec room, she stopped and peered through the window, seeing that the lights were out and the room was empty this period. Okay, not creepy or anything. No reason to suddenly pick up a horror movie vibe. She carefully pushed the door open and peeked around—nope, no masked murderers hiding behind the door. Stepping further inside, Quinn tossed her Lit book on the counter and trailed her fingers over the cabinets she passed, idly pulling open one of the drawers to reveal the knives and forks inside. Couldn't hurt to be prepared, right?

"Hello," she heard called out in a melodious voice, and she whipped around to see Rachel stepping tentatively into the room, much as Quinn had done a moment before.

"Rachel?" she asked stupidly.

"Quinn!" Rachel composed herself rather quickly and said, "I'm sorry. I…I was expecting to meet Finn."

Quinn frowned. "Finn? Why the hell would you be meeting him here alone after you broke up?"

Rachel stiffened, "I thought that perhaps he wished to apologize so that we might attempt to rebuild our friendship."

"He thinks you cheated on him, Rachel. He's not going to apologize to you," Quinn shouted in frustration. She'd really thought the girl had finally come to her senses, but  _no_ , she caves at the first little indication that she might get another chance with Frankenteen. "I can't believe you'd take him back."

Rachel narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips. "Firstly, I did not cheat on him," she paused and winced, "this time. And secondly, I have no intention of taking Finn Hudson back. I simply thought it was he who had slipped the note into my locker. If had known it was you…"

"I didn't give you a note," Quinn interrupted Rachel's tirade, suddenly remembering the reason she was there. " _You_  gave  _me_  a note."

"I most certainly did not," Rachel denied.

Quinn blew out a frustrated breath. "This is ridiculous. Cady Thompson handed me a note telling me to be here after sixth period. Here I am," she indicated herself, then pointed at Rachel, "and here you are. So explain."

Rachel quirked an eyebrow. "You are aware that I am  _not_ Cady Thompson? I have no idea who she is or why she would ask to meet you."

Quinn speared her with  _the look_ , but Rachel hardly seemed intimidated. "She was only the messenger. The stupid thing was just signed _friend_."

Rachel regarded her carefully, then held out one hand and said, "show it to me."

Quinn glanced down at Rachel's open palm, and then glanced away sheepishly. "I…ah…left it in my locker."

"How convenient," Rachel drawled.

Quinn glared at her and put her own hand out. "Well, show me yours," she demanded. Of course, Rachel just smiled haughtily and produced a little piece of yellow paper from the pocket of her skirt and dropped it into Quinn's open palm.

_Please meet me in the Home Ec room after sixth period. ~F_

Okay, why the heck did Rachel get a  _please_ and Quinn just got a demand? And, "Who the hell is  _F_?" Quinn wondered out loud.

Rachel shrugged. "As I said, I assumed it was Finn. But I suppose the  _F_  could stand for Fabray."

"I didn't write it," she growled.

"Or your mysterious  _friend_ ," Rachel pointed out soothingly. "Someone obviously wrote the note, and if you are being truthful…"

"I am," Quinn insisted.

"Then I must conclude that we have been set up," Rachel finished logically.

Quinn crossed her arms. "Nobody is stupid enough to set  _me_  up."

"Well, you have been somewhat abrasive this past week," Rachel reminded her.

"I've been…? Forget this," Quinn huffed and stalked over to the door, grabbing the knob and twisting it. Nothing happened. "What the hell?" she muttered, trying again with both hands.

"Quinn?"

"It's locked," she breathed disbelievingly, staring at the doorknob. McKinley's classrooms were all fitted with double-sided key locks to keep the students from getting up to mischief on school grounds, as Principal Figgins put it. If you didn't have the key, you couldn't lock the door—or more importantly, open it.

"Don't be absurd. Of course it's not locked," Rachel insisted, moving beside Quinn.

Quinn jerked her hands back off the knob and raised them in mocking surrender, glaring down at Rachel in challenge. "Okay, little Ms. Know-It-All. You open it."

The girl confidently placed her hand on the knob and flexed her wrist. Her brow furrowed and the confident smirk dropped from her face as she tried again, placing both hands over the knob just as Quinn had done. "It's locked," she echoed meekly.

"Really?" Quinn emoted. "You don't say."

Rachel shot her a dirty look. "Fine. You were right. I was wrong. It does not alter the fact that we are currently locked in and…Oh my God!" Rachel gasped in horror.

Quinn's heart lurched and started pounding frantically. "What?" Rachel just stared at her wide-eyed with a hand pressed over her mouth. "What is it? What's wrong?" she urged worriedly.

Rachel dropped her hand and whispered, "We're missing glee."

Quinn gaped at her for an incredulous moment before she burst out laughing. " _That's_  what you're most worried about?"

Rachel stiffened beside her, hands perching back on slender hips. "It's not funny, Quinn Fabray. I was looking forward to hearing Mercedes perform her version of the Pretenders' classic  _Brass In Pocket_."

"Do you always know what everyone's performing beforehand?" Quinn questioned snippily.

"Obviously not, or else I would have skipped  _your_  wonderful selection," Rachel spat back.

 _Ouch, low blow._ "I said I was sorry for that," Quinn pouted.

"Actually, you never really did," Rachel pointed out kindly. "You just stuttered a lot."

Quinn leaned back against the wall and stared down at the floor. "Oh, well, I am, you know. Sorry." It felt good to actually say it out loud.

"I forgive you," Rachel said with a soft smile.

Quinn smiled back, feeling happier than she had a few minutes ago. "I don't suppose you have your cell phone."

Rachel ducked her head. "It's in my locker." She lifted her dark eyes to Quinn's. "I assume by your question that you don't have yours either."

Quinn shook her head and sighed, letting her body slide down the wall and settle onto the floor, despite the fact that there were stools littered around the room. "How long do you think we'll be stuck in here?"

Rachel awkwardly sank down next to Quinn, pulling at the hem of her skirt as she did so. "Well, considering that this is the last period of the day, and no one has any reason to come into this classroom again until tomorrow morning, I fear it may be quite sometime before we're discovered."

"I was afraid you'd say that," Quinn muttered.

"Well, if our fellow glee clubbers fail to come looking for us in a timely fashion, then there is still the possibility that Coach Sylvester will send out a search party for her captain when you fail to show up for practice."

The cheerleader snorted, "Yeah, I doubt that. She'll just put Santana in charge."

"I could attempt to crawl out the window and go for help," Rachel offered.

"We're on the second floor, Rachel," Quinn pointed out.

"I'm very agile."

She tried to ignore the tantalizing images that popped into her head. "You're insane."

"So, I've been told," Rachel disclosed with a resigned nod.

Quinn glanced down at the floor between them and noticed the proximity of their hands. Rachel's fingers were spread out so that the tip of her pinky was just centimeters away from Quinn's. If she moved her finger just a little… Biting her lip, she pulled her hand away from the tile and crossed her arms, digging the nails on her right hand into her own bicep to distract her from the urge to reach over and touch Rachel.

"I'm going to kill Santana," she muttered.

Rachel's eyebrows scrunched up adorably at the subject change. "Did you two have another altercation?"

Quinn snorted, "No, but we will. I'm pretty sure this," she jerked a thumb up to indicated the locked door, "is her doing."  _Because Santana Lopez is a master at twisting the knife deeper._

"Would she have bothered with the notes? She seems more the type to confront you in person without any concern for the fallout," Rachel reasoned out logically, and Quinn frowned. Subterfuge wasn't really Santana's style. She insulted you to your face and openly schemed against you, and she  _liked_  taking responsibility for the pain and humiliation she caused.

"Well, who do  _you_  think it was? And don't say Finn," she warned through gritted teeth.

"This," Rachel mimicked Quinn's earlier action of pointing at the door, "is a little beyond his planning skills." Quinn snickered, and Rachel offered a half-smile. "Besides, he has no motive," she shrugged, "unless he intended revenge upon his two ex-girlfriends, in which case, it was a very sad and unproductive attempt."

"Are you…okay with all of that?"

Rachel quirked an eyebrow. "The breakup?" At Quinn's nod, Rachel sighed. "I'm a little sad that our romantic relationship is over, but more so that our friendship has suffered for it. Finn is a really good guy, but apparently, he's just not good for  _me_. In theory, we should have been the perfect couple, but in practice…well, it just never seemed to work."

"You  _were_  kind of toxic together," Quinn agreed, abundantly relieved that Rachel wasn't pining after Finn and planning to beg for another chance.

Rachel frowned, "I wouldn't say  _toxic_."

"He turned you into his cheerleader, Rach. That's not you," Quinn pointed out. "Therefore, toxic is the word I'm going with."

Rachel blushed prettily, fidgeting with the hem of skirt. "You're calling me  _Rach_  now." A shy smile danced over her full lips. "Does that mean we are, in fact, friends?"

Quinn released a shaky breath, not even having realized what she'd said. She glanced away. "We're friends," she admitted softly, not fully knowing just when that had happened, but acknowledging that it had. But being  _friends_ with Rachel could be okay. Perfectly acceptable. Platonic.

She chanced a look back at the other girl, saw the huge smile and sparkling dark eyes, and her heart fluttered traitorously.

_Yeah, right…friends._

"So, what were you doing with Puck anyway? Are you two, like, getting back together or something?" Quinn asked into the unexpected silence, not fully realizing how much the possibility had been bothering her until the words came flying out.

"Heavens, no," Rachel exclaimed. "Noah and I aren't compatible in any way other than the strictly physical."

Quinn's stomach tensed. "Yeah, too much information."

Rachel flushed pink. "Sorry. I know you…well, the two of you…" she trailed off, waving her hand around in the air uselessly.

"No!" Quinn said vehemently, then softer, "Just no. It was a drunken mistake."

"Oh."

"So, if you're not into Puck, then why even risk it with Finn?" she wanted to know. It just didn't make any sense. Quinn knew that Rachel had a soft spot for Noah Puckerman for some unfathomable reason—one that was completely reciprocated—but after everything she'd done to be with Finn, it shouldn't have been much of a sacrifice to stay away from the one person guaranteed to send him off into a jealous rage.

"I'm afraid if I tell you, you'll be upset," Rachel confessed quietly.

"Just tell me," Quinn urged.

Rachel took a deep breath, then released it slowly. She focused her gaze on the fake wood veneer of the counter in across from them. "Noah was…he was asking about…about my mother."

Quinn studied Rachel's profile in confusion. "Why would he ask…? Oh," she breathed, suddenly feeling like there was a thousand pound weight crushing her chest. Her arms uncrossed, one hand falling limply over her belly and the other pressing over her aching heart.

"He thinks about her a lot," Rachel revealed in a soft, gentle voice. "He just wanted to know if…if I kept in touch with Shelby."

"Do you?" Quinn asked without thinking.

She didn't want to talk about this. She didn't  _ever_ talk about it. Not with anyone. So why was she holding her breath, waiting for Rachel to answer?

"Not really, but she…she contacted me, just after the adoption was final. I guess she felt that she owed me that much after everything she did…" Rachel trailed off, turning her head away from Quinn. The tone of her voice tripped a thousand alarms inside the Quinn's head.

"What do you mean?" she pushed urgently. Her hand pressed down over Rachel's on the floor. "Rachel, what do you mean?" she asked again.

Rachel turned to look at her with glistening eyes. Her voice was flat when she finally spoke. "She didn't want me to find out from someone else that'd she'd replaced me."

_Replaced? No. No, that wasn't how it was._

"But you didn't want a relationship with her until you're older," Quinn said in a rush. "You told us you didn't want to hurt your dads." Quinn remembered that. She  _knew_  she did. She may have pretended not to listen when Rachel talked, but she always heard every word the other girl said.

"I lied."

Everything seemed to freeze with those two words—Quinn's heart, her breath in her lungs, the thoughts swirling in her head—it all just stopped. "What?" she whispered.

Rachel closed her eyes and looked away. "Everyone in glee knew that I'd finally met my mother. I couldn't face telling you all that…that, once she got to know me, she realized that she just didn't want me," she choked out around a stifled sob, a single tear falling over her cheek.

"No…wait," Quinn insisted frantically, gripping Rachel's hand hard. "That's not true. Shelby said you'd both agreed it was for the best."

"What was I supposed to do, Quinn?" Rachel asked desperately. "My own mother told me that she'd rather  _admire_  me from a  _distance_  than actually spend anymore time with me. I could just hear you all taunting me with it." She jerked her hand out from under Quinn's and wiped impatiently at the wetness on her cheek. " _You're such a freak, Berry, your own mother doesn't even want you,_ " she spat in a fair imitation of something that Santana might have said. Or even Quinn.

_Oh, God!_

"But I gave her my baby!" Quinn cried brokenly, tears rushing over her own cheeks now as her heart pounded out of her chest. "I…she said she missed out on so much with you—that she knew what it was like. She promised to give Beth everything!" Shelby Corcoran had lied to her to get what she wanted. What kind of a mother was she? "Oh, God,  _oh God._ " She drew her knees up to her chest, curling into herself as she rocked back and forth, wanting nothing more than to block out the truth. "I gave my daughter to a woman who abandoned her own child!"

"Quinn."

She felt a hand on her shoulder and she jerked away. "No! Don't touch me. You should have...should have...t-told me! I wouldn't have…!" Quinn could barely speak around her gut-wrenching sobs. Her throat was tight and she couldn't seem to pull in enough air. "I gave her my baby…oh god, Beth…"

_Beth, my baby, I'm so sorry. So sorry. Please forgive me._

She was only half aware of surprisingly strong arms wrapping around her and pulling her close. "Oh, Quinn, it's okay. You did the right thing," Rachel assured her in that sweet, gentle angel's voice. "Shelby adores Beth."

"How can you defend her?" Quinn rasped when she managed to regain some composure. What kind of a mother could reject her own child so cruelly? Giving Beth away hurt like hell, silently tortured her everyday with  _what ifs_. What if Finn had been the real father? What if her parents hadn't kicked her out? What if she'd just been a few years older? What if she'd just taken her daughter in her arms and held on for all she was worth?

"Because she  _does_ know what it's like to lose a child. She wanted her baby girl. She just…she didn't want…a teenager," and even though Rachel had been cautious with her words, Quinn knew she meant to say  _she just didn't want me_. Another sob tore free and her heart broke for Rachel as well as for Beth. Rachel just held her tighter and stroked a soothing hand over her head. "Shelby wanted to be there from the beginning, to bond with her child. She can do that with Beth. Your little girl will have an amazing life."

"But…"

"No, no buts," Rachel told her, easing back and urging Quinn to look up at her. "My issues with Shelby are  _mine._ They have nothing to do with Beth."

"I miss her, Rachel," Quinn whispered for the first time out loud. "God, I miss her so much."

"I know." Rachel shifted slightly, keeping one arm looped around Quinn's shoulders so that she could fall seamlessly into her side.

"I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Rachel told her.

"Shelby's a bitch," Quinn growled lowly.

Rachel chuckled a little. "Well, I'm not really going to argue, but I guess genetics must be pretty strong, because I actually do understand where she was coming from." Quinn lifted her head and stared at Rachel dubiously, but the girl just shrugged. "I don't  _like_  it, but I  _understand_ it. And she really will make certain that Beth has everything she'll ever need. You weren't in a position to give your daughter the kind of life that she deserves, but Shelby is. She's older and established and was ready to…to start a family of her own. You made the right decision, Quinn," and fresh tears streamed from Quinn's eyes because Rachel so obviously believed that. "And hey, you know that Beth is going to grow up surrounded by music," Rachel finished with a proud little grin.

"You would think about that," Quinn laughed through her tears.

Rachel licked her lips nervously. "And she'll be beautiful," she breathed, enticing Quinn closer with her dark eyes and intense expression. Her heart quivered erratically as she stared at the girl before her and realized how blind she had been—Rachel Berry was truly breathtaking. The moment stretched out between them, full of endless possibilities, but to Quinn's disappointment, Rachel seemed to remember herself, averting her gaze and breaking the spell with a wry smile. "And totally badass."

Quinn sighed, dropped her head back onto Rachel's shoulder and closed her eyes, melting into her comforting embrace and wishing she could just stay there forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hijo de puta_ \- son of a bitch


	18. Dancing

**Dancing**

Quinn was curled up into Rachel's side, her tears having mostly subsided, but every so often a sad little hiccup would shake her shoulders and she'd sniffle and rub at her eyes. Rachel wished she could do something more for her, but she knew there were no words that could ease Quinn's pain. Shelby's rejection of Rachel had been the subject of numerous therapy sessions, and while talking (ranting) had helped her release some of her anger, nothing her therapist ever said in reply was remotely useful in dealing with the lingering pain and depression. It was always going to be a part of her, much as Quinn would always carry her own grief over giving up her daughter. Rachel suspected that the girl's breakdown today was long overdue, because apparently she'd never really talked to anyone about Beth. Noah had indicated as much last week when he'd finally broached the subject of the adoption.

Rachel's fingers were playing over blonde hair, much of which had escaped the tight confines of the ponytail, and her right side was on fire where the Quinn's body molded to it. She squeezed her eyes closed, willing her heart to stop racing and her hormones to stop reacting. Inappropriate feelings were inappropriate. Quinn needed a friend right now, not…whatever Rachel was fantasizing about. She'd  _just_ broken up with her boyfriend three days ago, and the girl in her arms still very much had one. Even if Sam wasn't a very real obstacle, now was  _not_  the time to be thinking about how gorgeous Quinn Fabray looked regardless of having spent the last twenty minutes crying.

"I wish I had thought to bring my bag. I have tissues I could have offered you," Rachel remarked. "Oh, wait, how stupid," she muttered, attempting to gently untangle herself from Quinn. The girl protested at first, clinging a little tighter, then abruptly let go, unhappily slumping back against the wall. Rachel uncurled herself from the hard floor, her legs protesting as she did so. She stood and walked to the sink to retrieve the roll of paper towels, holding it up victoriously as she made her way back to Quinn, who looked up with a thin, sad smile before she wiped at her reddened eyes again.

"I must look like crap," she mumbled, reaching up for the offered towels and tearing a piece free to daintily dab at her eyes and nose.

Rachel sank back down beside her, offering a genuine smile. "I don't think its possible for you to ever really look  _bad_ , Quinn. You even manage to cry attractively."

"You're such a liar," Quinn whispered, losing the battle against the little grin that was tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"I prefer economical with the truth," Rachel clarified.

Quinn chuckled softly, her dewy gaze raking over Rachel. Then her fleeting smile slowly slipped into a pensive frown. "Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked. "I've been nothing but horrible to you for years."

"Everyone deserves a second chance," she reminded Quinn gently. Rachel truly did believe that. Perhaps some would think her woefully naïve, but she understood that people rarely presented their true selves to the world around them. Everyone was acting. Pretending to be better, or cooler, or richer, or smarter than they really were, and sometimes they got a little lost in the part they were playing and did things they would come to regret later. Rachel wanted to get to know the real Quinn Fabray—the sweet, vulnerable girl that peeked out from beneath the head bitch persona every so often.

Quinn exhaled on a single, soundless laugh, closing her eyes and looking away from Rachel's intense gaze. "I think I blew all my second chances sometime last year."

"I haven't always been very nice to you either." Rachel stared down at her own hands in her lap to avoid looking at Quinn as she continued to speak. "As you pointed out, I did attempt to seduce Finn away from you while you were together regardless of the fact that I believed you to be pregnant with his child at the time." Something that she was not proud to admit, but those were her fickle morals again. She'd wanted something, so she'd found a way to justify having it.

"I was a bitch to you long before that. It's not like you had a reason to care about my feelings," Quinn said sadly.

"But, at the very least, I should have respected your relationship with him," Rachel insisted, finally lifting her face to meet Quinn's eyes—eyes that she caught mid roll.

"I was lying to him," she reminded her.

"But I didn't know that at the time. I should have been more considerate."

"I've done some really awful things, Rachel," Quinn pointed out unabashedly. "I basically joined glee club so I could sabotage it from the inside."

Rachel shrugged, unimpressed by the completely unsurprising revelation. "I got Mr. Ryerson fired."

Quinn narrowed her gaze and frowned. "I told Coach about Santana's boob job so I could take her spot."

"I sent that Sunshine girl to a crack house."

"Yeah," Quinn nodded slowly, her expression serious and grave. "That was bad." Then she smirked and her eyes twinkled with mirth. "I was kind of impressed though."

Rachel sighed, "It's probably a very good thing that we were never, in fact, friends before now, Quinn, else we may have wreaked serious havoc upon the school."

They both began to giggle, and Quinn's head rolled to the left, bringing her face just inches from Rachel's once again. Their laughter slowly ebbed away as they watched one another, awareness spilling into the air around them and seeping into their lungs with every breath. If Rachel were to lean forward ever so slightly, she'd be able to taste those perfect, pink lips again. Lips that parted enticingly before cruelly destroying the moment.

"I need to wash my face," Quinn blurted out, jerking back and scrambling off the floor to rush across the room. Rachel heard the water start to run, and she dragged her own hands over her face, shaking her head. She couldn't take this anymore. Her heretofore easily assuaged libido was screaming at her to be acknowledged. Pressing her hands against the cold tile floor, she pushed herself up into a standing position and studied Quinn. She was currently bent over the sink, left forearm propped on the counter and right hand wiping at the back of her neck with a wet paper towel.

"We need to talk about this," Rachel announced flatly, making her way closer to the cheerleader.

Quinn shut the tap off and dropped the towel. "What? Me washing my face," she evaded, apparently finding something in the sink utterly fascinating since she refused to look away from it.

Rachel curled her fingers around the edge of the counter, watching the pink beneath her nails fade to white from the pressure. "This… _thing_  that we've been attempting to ignore since Noah's party."

"No, we're not talking about that," Quinn insisted, spinning away from the sink and pacing halfway across the room to distance herself from Rachel.

"I realize that it may be slightly uncomfortable, but…"

"No!" Quinn barked, then pressed her left hand over her eyes as she shook her head and weakly muttered, "Not now, Rachel. I can't do this now." Quinn dropped her hand and looked up at Rachel with pleading eyes.

She looked terrified, and completely drained, and Rachel felt her heart ache for the girl. She sighed in resignation. "When?"

"I don't know." Quinn sucked her lower lip between her teeth and turned away, gazing blindly out the window.

Rachel leaned against the counter and studied her. Quinn had been sending out so many mixed signals in the last two weeks that she couldn't determine if she was coming or going. First she'd taken to tormenting her again, then she'd seemed apologetic and somewhat cordial, then downright friendly before turning back into the ice queen and ignoring her entirely for a week. Dealing with Quinn was like standing in the center of a hurricane and Rachel couldn't keep her footing at all.

Her own emotions were hardly any more reliable. Two weeks ago she'd been perfectly content and in love with her boyfriend—well, in…something like love. She was self aware enough to realize that she tended to over dramatize her every emotion to the point that everything felt bigger than it really was. She was so easily swept away, and usually ended up crashing and burning sooner or later. Yes, she'd loved Finn, but with hindsight, she could no longer claim that it had been the  _forever_ kind of love. Even if their relationship hadn't kept hitting sour notes, they probably wouldn't have made it past high school. Falling in love was wonderful while you were falling, but when you hit bottom, you either ended up hurt or completely numb.

Her feelings for Quinn were different. Unexpected.

She hadn't fallen.

She'd stumbled.

It was like they'd been dancing—actually, boxing would describe it better, but Rachel much preferred artistic metaphors to athletic ones—gliding around one another in a careful choreography with varying rhythms until Rachel had lost her balance just enough to stumble into Quinn. The action had thrown them both out of sync and now they were trying to learn new steps.

There was simply no use in denying it anymore—Rachel was attracted to Quinn. Attracted. Intrigued. Charmed. Captivated. Enamored. Enthralled. She really could go on for quite awhile as she had a very extensive vocabulary. Not that it mattered. The only words that could really make a difference right now were the ones that Quinn would never say.

She really was unfairly beautiful, from the graceful line of her throat to her high cheekbones and adorable nose—the tiny curve at the bridge adding character and keeping her from being too perfect—and those amazing eyes that shimmered with every shade of gold and green. It was easy to see why Finn, Noah, and Sam had all been so eager to try and impress her, but Quinn always seemed so far above them—as though she was only biding her time until something better came along. If Quinn  _was_  suppressing a secret attraction to women—a possibility that was growing stronger with every wistful look and unconsciously flirtatious smile—Rachel knew that she still wouldn't have a real chance with her. Not with Quinn's value system and certainly not while their social spheres were so far removed from one another, crossing only through glee club and a few mutual ex-boyfriends.

Did she even want a chance were it to actually appear?

The entire situation was horribly complicated. She couldn't even say for certain that she was gay. Until she'd kissed Quinn, she'd fully identified as straight, but now she was questioning everything. When Rachel had first discovered herself crushing on boys, she'd been…relieved. She adored her fathers, she truly did, and they'd raised her to be open to love in whatever form it existed, but that didn't exactly mean she was eager to embrace a life marred by prejudice and adversity. She already had to face that just being the daughter of a homosexual couple.

Had she ignored an attraction to women all this time in favor of making her life easier? Happy to classify her admiration of other girls' appearances as merely envious instead of potentially amorous? She simply didn't know. It was entirely possible that she might only be attracted to Quinn.

Evidently, her sexuality was still a work in progress.

 

•••

At 2:01 pm, the McKinley High Glee Club gathered in the choir room for their usual afternoon rehearsal. Kurt was glancing back behind him and surveying the room when Mr. Schuester arrived. Mercedes elbowed him in the side and he looked over at her with a frown. "What?"

"What did you do?" she asked him suspiciously.

"What are you talking about?"

Mercedes opened her mouth, but Mr. Schuester's voice sounded out instead. "Where are Quinn and Rachel?"

Kurt had been wondering that as well. Quinn had skipped glee before on occasion, but Rachel never did—well, maybe once or twice, but never without a valid excuse (like laryngitis or being egged by an ex-boyfriend)—and after the last week, having both of them conspicuously missing at the same time made him nervous.

Most of the club shrugged and murmured  _"don't know,"_ but Puck leaned back in his chair and joked, "maybe they're having a catfight in the girl's bathroom. I can go check it out if you want."

"You wish, Puckerman," Santana grumbled.

"Shouldn't you know where Rachel is, since you're so  _close_ now?" Finn questioned with a pathetic whine.

"Get over yourself, Finn," Mercedes told him.

"Yeah, man. Don't make me punch you," Puck threatened. "You blew it with Berry all by yourself."

"Alright, enough guys. Let's just get started. Mercedes, you're up first."

Kurt tried to keep his attention on his best friend's performance, because really, she totally rocked it—Chrissie Hynde would be proud—but his eyes kept darting back to the door waiting for either a blonde or brunette or both to suddenly appear. He glanced around the room, studying his team mates. He caught Santana's eye and raised a questioning brow, and she shrugged in reply. Tina shook her head to indicate that she was clueless. Brittany…well, she was always clueless, so he didn't even bother.

According to Santana, Quinn had been  _flipping her shit_  ll day because Rachel had decided to keep a low profile. Kurt knew the girl had been doing that mostly to avoid seeing Finn—or more accurately, seeing Finn scowl at her with his typical mix of angry accusation and hurt every time she came within ten feet of him. She may have been mostly okay with the breakup in theory, but Kurt knew that she was more bothered than she let on about the  _way_  things had ended. Still, Rachel would have never skipped glee just to avoid her ex. So that begged the question—had Quinn been worried enough about their girl to actually forget that she wasn't supposed to care and actually  _do_  something?

Kurt imagined that he'd have to track Rachel down for answers after school when almost the entire hour in glee had passed without any trace of the missing girls. Mr. Schue was back to tossing around new ideas for Regionals when the door slammed open and a pissed-off Quinn Fabray came marching into the room, Rachel hot on her heels.

"Okay which one of you morons locked us in the damn Home Ec room?" she growled.

"What?" Kurt squeaked in surprise, his head automatically turning in Santana's direction—where incidentally, the bulk of Quinn's attention was focused—but the girl looked just as shocked as he was.

"Is that where you two were?" Mercedes asked.

"Don't play innocent," Quinn snapped.

"Please, she's not that good an actress."

"Stuff it, Santana," Rachel shot back.

"Quinn, maybe you should just calm down," Mr. Schue started, but Quinn cut him off with a withering look.

"No offense, Mr. Schue, but this is none of your business and class is almost over anyway." It was true, there were less than five minutes left before the bell would ring.

Mr. Schuester held up his hands and nodded. "Okay, fine. Have it out. Just everybody be here Wednesday and be ready to work. Rachel," he said, "as captain, I'm trusting you to make sure things don't get out of hand."

"Of course, Mr. Schuester," she promised angelically, thousand-watt smile included.

"You're trusting  _her_ ," Finn spat.

"Grow up, Hudson," Quinn demanded, clearly seething, and the boy slouched down in his seat looking dejected. Mr. Schuester shook his head in frustration and left his kids alone.  _How very unprofessional,_  Kurt thought.  _What else is new?_

"Somebody better start talking. Now!"

"Quinn, perhaps a less confrontational approach might yield more favorable results," Rachel prompted, placing a hand on her arm. Quinn instantly relaxed into her touch. Well,  _that_  was new.

"We were locked in there for almost an  _hour_ , Rach! If I want to be confrontational, I damn well will be," Quinn insisted.

"Hold up," Santana said, dropping both feet to the floor and leaning forward on her elbows. "Did you just call her  _Rach_?"

"People call her Rach," Quinn shot back, tensing up again.

"But you never have," Tina said.

"Well, I am now. And stop stalling." Quinn adopted her HBIC pose and swept her furious gaze across the risers. "Who. Locked. The. Door?"

"Maybe it was my cat. She's really sneaky."

Rachel shook her head at Brittany and turned to Quinn. "This is obviously a waste of time, Quinn. We aren't going to get an answer and frankly, discovering the culprit would hardly make any difference now. We should simply put the incident behind us."

"Yeah, you should listen to the midget, Q," Santana told her.

"Don't call her that," Quinn said, face going as red as her uniform.

That was  _definitely_  new. Kurt had to sit on his hands to keep from clapping in excitement and squealing like a little girl.

"It's alright," Rachel said lowly, again running a hand over Quinn's arm and calming her.

"Whatever," she finally breathed, "but I swear, if I ever find out who did this…"

"Yeah, yeah. You let your bitch flag fly and Berry will torture the culprit with a boring ten minute lecture," Santana snarked. "We're all trembling in our sneakers."

Quinn took a step forward, stopped only by Rachel's grip around her wrist. "You…"

"Quinn. Let it go."

"Fine," she gently shook off Rachel's touch. "I'm out of here. I've already lost an hour of my life that I'll never get back." She turned to leave, hesitating just a moment as her eyes caught Rachel's and a little flicker of a grin turned up the corner of her mouth, but she covered it with her familiar blank expression so quickly that Kurt thought he might have imagined the whole thing.

After Quinn left, Rachel turned back to face them with her hands on her hips. "I am very disappointed in all of you," she told them with a shake of her head. "If Mrs. O'Toole had not lost her bottle of Valium and needed the spare she keeps locked up with the butchers knives, Quinn and I may have been trapped together until the morning, and none of you were even concerned at our absence. I certainly hope the responsible party is appropriately ashamed of his or her self." That said, she spun on her heal and marched out of the room.

Finn gathered up his things and left right after Rachel's speech, followed by Sam and Mike. Artie gave Brittany a kiss and wheeled himself out the door. Kurt watched them all go while he was still trying to process this new development. He turned to Mercedes. "So, who did lock them up together?"

"Don't look at me. Those two still scare me a little."

"Yeah." Tina agreed. "I mean getting them to sit together or hang out a little is one thing, but locking them up in a room with knives and ovens…not really the brightest idea."

"Please, like you losers were making any progress with your pansy ass shopping trips and musical chairs. Those two chicks needed a real push."

"Puck?" Santana said in shock.

Kurt whipped around to looked at the jock still lounging up in the back row with a shit-eating grin on his face. "We really need to check the room before we start talking about the plan," he said to no one in particular.

"How did you even know?" Mercedes asked.

He shot her an offended look. "Please, give Puckzilla a little credit. I totally knew those two had the hots for each other. I mean come on, that kiss left burn marks on my mom's carpet," he reminded them. Then he shrugged, "Besides, my baby mama deserves better than Lady Lips, and Berry really needed to dump Hudson's unappreciative ass."

Mercedes shook her head in disbelief. "I thought you two were bros."

"We are, but man, he sucks as a boyfriend. I was tired of seeing Rachel all sad and shit."

"Wait," Santana turned fully in her chair, giving him a once over and then smirking. "You were totally trying to break them up on purpose."

"Well, duh! That was the plan even before the hot lesbian action started going down."

"I don't think they've gone down yet," Brittany announced.

"Oh God, the visual," Kurt muttered in disgust.

"Oh, yeah, the visual," Puck echoed in appreciation, nodding his head.

"You are such a pervert," Mercedes told him.

"You love me, babe."

"You wish."

"So what happens now?" Tina asked. "I mean, they seemed…kind of…"

"Like a couple," Kurt supplied dreamily.

"I wouldn't start planning the wedding yet, Hummel," Santana warned.

"Do you think I could be a bridesmaid?" Brittany wondered.

"Yeah, man," Puck cut in. "Berry may be a hot single Jew now, but Quinn's still got to lose Macauley Culkin."

"Ooh, good one," Santana nodded in approval.

"Do you two just sit around thinking up degrading nicknames all day?" Mercedes wanted to know.

"Comes naturally," Santana said.

"It's a gift," Puck bragged.

"So, how do you suggest we proceed?" Kurt asked them all. He still had the sleepover idea percolating in the back of his mind, but he was open to suggestions.

"Don't worry about the Ken Doll. It'll be easy enough to break up that boring relationship," Santana offered with a wicked smile, ignoring the angry little frown that Brittany aimed in her direction.

"Maybe we should just…let them be," Tina suggested mildly.

"Excuse me?" Kurt gasped.

Tina shrugged. "Well, they just spent an hour alone together and it seems like they're finally getting along. Can't we just wait and see what happens? I mean, maybe they just need some time to get closer on their own."

"Girl's got a point," Mercedes agreed.

Kurt slumped a little in his char. "I suppose," he pouted, and Mercedes giggled and wrapped an arm around him.

"It's okay, sweetie. Baby steps, remember."

 

•••

When Quinn arrived home from cheerio's practice, she was both physically and emotionally exhausted. She avoided her mother's concerned glance, claiming a headache, and went straight up to her room. She chanced a look in her mirror and cringed when she saw how red and puffy her eyes still were. She'd probably cried more in the last two weeks than she had through all of her pregnancy, and she'd been an emotional wreck then.

She hated feeling this way, like everything was spinning out of control. She just wanted to claw at her own skin and scream at the top of her lungs for it to stop. It was pathetic, and weak, and… _painful._

_God, so painful._

Quinn choked back another sob, pressing her hand to her mouth and breathing deeply. She wasn't going to fall apart again. She could hardly believe that she'd already let it happen so easily with Rachel earlier. Of all people…it would be  _her_  that Quinn would finally break in front of. It was oddly appropriate that Rachel Berry be the first person that she'd ever really talked to about her daughter. Before today, she'd never spoken about the baby…ever…to anyone. Sure, she and Puck had talked about it right after they'd given her up, and she'd talked to her mom a little when she'd first moved back in, but both conversations had been awkward and stilted. Since then, it was subject that she wouldn't bring up, but one that was constantly on her mind.

The only thing that kept her from going crazy was her belief that she'd given up her little girl to a better life. That  _Shelby Corcoran_ would be a  _better_  mother. Rachel's confession had just taken that away from her, and Quinn couldn't even be angry because it was all her own damn fault. She'd just been so lost last year—terrified and overwhelmed and completely clueless. She'd done everything wrong, from having sex with Puck to lying to Finn to turning down Rachel's honest offer of friendship. Mercedes had been a godsend in those last two months, but Quinn had never expected the Jones family to take responsibility for both her  _and_ her baby, so she'd ended up keeping an emotional distance during her stay with them.

She'd gone so long flipping back and forth daily between wanting to keep her baby and not wanting to have to deal with the pregnancy at all, that she hadn't been prepared in the least when she'd finally given birth. It hadn't helped that she'd gone into labor more than two weeks early. If her mother had come to her senses sooner and taken her home, or if someone as goal oriented as Rachel Berry had been supporting her from the beginning, pushing her to make a plan instead of just scheme to get her bills paid and keep her secrets, Quinn would never have found herself staring down at that perfect little person and feeling sick at the thought of just surrendering her to the hospital and never knowing what happened to her.

Shelby Corcoran had been in the perfect place at the perfect time with that sincere smile that was so much like Rachel's and saying all the right things. In retrospect, Quinn could admit that the idea of Rachel's mother raising her daughter had been a little bit comforting. She didn't even really know the woman, and she certainly hadn't known that she'd rejected her own daughter, but at the time, Quinn had looked at Shelby and instantly seen an older, less irritating version of Rachel with all the same passion, intelligence, and confidence. So she'd felt like she could trust Shelby. Maybe that should have been a big clue to her that her feelings for the girl were complicated.

Rachel had tried to tell her that Beth was loved and cared for, that Shelby really wasn't a bad person, and Quinn wanted to believe that for her daughter's sake, but she couldn't stop seeing the pain and jealousy in Rachel's brown eyes and feeling her heart break just a little more. If she just could have gotten over her damned fear and stubborn pride and admitted her feelings, she could have accepted Rachel's offer of friendship last year and not been all alone after Finn found out the truth. And Quinn could have been there for Rachel when she'd really needed a friend, and she would have known all these things about Shelby sooner, and maybe they could have picked out a nice adoptive family for Beth together. No one would have gotten hurt and Rachel would have never dated Finn because  _Quinn_ would have already given her all the love and support that he never could…

Her mental rambling came to an abrupt halt and she caught her breath, pressing a shaking hand over her skittering heart.

_Love?_

Did she…?

Oh, dear lord, she  _did_.

She loved Rachel Berry.

Quinn stumbled backward until the backs of her knees hit her mattress and she sank down on the edge, dropping her head into her hands. This couldn't be happening. She'd almost come to terms with the weird attraction and the sudden surge of protectiveness, and  _yes_ , she'd really, really liked being in Rachel's arms today—she'd never felt so safe and cared for—but she wasn't ready to be in love.

 _In_ love?

"Oh, no," she whispered into her palms. She could ignore the attraction, and she could deal with  _liking_  Rachel, but if she was falling in love with the other girl, then she was in real trouble. Being in love made her vulnerable (like Rachel had seen more than once) and jealous (like she felt every time she'd had to watch Rachel with Finn or Puck) and possessive (like how she wanted to slap Santana every time she went near Rachel or made some sexual innuendo) and…nervous (when Rachel was near) and warm (when Rachel touched her) and happy (every time Rachel smiled at her) and aroused (all the time.)

_Fuck!_

She was in love with Rachel. When the hell did that happen?

Quinn lifted her face and stared at her laptop across the room. On autopilot, she moved to her desk and brought up her shortcut to MySpace—and shouldn't that link saved in her favorites have been a dead giveaway?—and clicked onto one of Rachel's older videos, hitting play and willfully ignoring the nasty comments underneath. Rachel's perfect, amazing voice filled the room as she poured her heart into  _Taking Chances_ , and a slow, watery smile blossomed on Quinn's lips as she imagined that the girl was singing that song just for her. She swiped at the fresh tears trickling over her cheeks in an attempt to keep the image of Rachel from becoming any blurrier.

Could she do it? Could she take that kind of chance?

"What do you say, Fabray?" she asked herself at the end of the song, still staring at Rachel's beautiful face on her screen.

As if in answer, the cell phone laying next to her hand started to vibrate and she glanced down, stomach dropping out at the possibility that it might be Rachel. When she picked it up and looked at the screen, the sensation turned foul.

_Sam._

"Shit."


	19. The Object Of Her Affections

**The Object of Her Affections**

Sam Evans rang the doorbell of the Fabray house at 6:28 pm. He'd texted Quinn almost an hour ago and asked to see her, telling her that he wanted to talk. Her first instinct had been to put him off. After the emotional roller coaster she'd been on today, she really didn't want to face her boyfriend, but when she'd texted back a  _no_ , her guilty conscience had started to bother her. She couldn't keep stringing him along, knowing how she felt about Rachel, and she couldn't really make any confessions to the girl while she was technically still with Sam.

Quinn was inherently a selfish person and completely aware of the fact. She'd never been very tolerant of anything that stood in the way of getting something that she really wanted, and apparently, she really wanted Rachel Berry. Go figure. Her long suppressed desires were suddenly screaming at her to claim the girl, and her relationship with Sam was in the way. So she'd texted him back and told him to come over, and now, here he was, and she kind of wanted to vomit.

She hadn't bothered dressing for the occasion, wearing just her sweats and a WMHS t-shirt, but she still took a second to smooth out the wrinkles and straighten her hair before opening the door with (she hoped) a friendly smile.

"Hi, Sam," she greeted.

"Hey." He bent down to give her a quick, closed mouth kiss that she automatically flinched away from—a fact that he definitely noticed if the slight frown on his face was any indication.

Quinn stepped back away from the door and let Sam come in, taking his jacket and laying across the back of the chair. She didn't really intend for him to be staying very long. She'd gone over what she wanted to say in her head before he'd arrived—the whole,  _it's not you, it's me_  mantra. And boy, was that ever true this time.

"So, is your mom home?" he asked a little too casually while he glanced around in search of the older Fabray.

"She's upstairs."

"Oh, uh...okay." He dropped down onto the sofa, leaned his elbows on his knees and stared down at his hands. Quinn's heart rate picked up a little when her eyes fell on the little blue ring box that she'd carefully set on the coffee table before he'd arrived. Yeah, that probably wasn't the best idea, attempting to subtly break up with your boyfriend via returned promise ring, but if Sam noticed the box, or realized what it meant, he didn't say.

"Sam, what do you want to talk about that couldn't wait until tomorrow?" she wanted to know, gingerly sitting down beside him.

"I guess…just," he sighed, angling his body toward her and looking into her eyes. "You and Rachel seemed okay today. You know…with getting locked up together."

Wait. Why was he bringing that up? Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "If you know who did that…"

"I don't. I swear," he said quickly. "But it wasn't terrible, was it? I mean, you seem like you," he hesitated, "like you're okay with her now."

_Okay with her? Understatement of the century._

"Yeah, well, being locked up with someone for almost an hour makes you…deal with certain things."  _Like all your suppressed lesbian tendencies and the fact that you've been in love with said person for God knows how long._

Sam nodded, still intently studying her face in a way that made her slightly uncomfortable. "You were pissed at Finn on Friday for not trusting her," he pointed out.

"You took his side, thinking she cheated on him with Puck. She didn't, by the way," Quinn told him snippily.

Sam shook his head. "I never said she did. I just said  _Finn_  had some valid reasons for thinking it. I actually don't think that Rachel cheated on him physically, but you know…maybe emotionally," he tried to explain, leveling her with a weighted look. "Just…not with Puck."

"Well, then who?" she asked heatedly. Sam didn't verbally answer her, just raised his eyebrows and continued to look at her until she understood that he meant  _her_. "Oh," she murmured under her breath, really feeling like she was about to vomit now. Her ears were buzzing a little and she gripped the sofa cushion like it was a life preserver. Sam started talking, and she had to struggle to catch all the words.

"Finn just kept telling me how distant Rachel was being, and that she wasn't into the physical stuff, like at all anymore, and she seemed like she was…thinking about someone else. And it all just sounded really familiar."

Quinn dragged in a painful lungful of air and fixed her gaze on her own right knee. She couldn't bare to look up and see the hurt and accusation in his eyes. "Sam…I…I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," he told her kindly. "I've kind of known this was coming since Puck's party."

She did look up then, eyes roaming over his face and seeing his resignation. " _I_  didn't know it was coming. It just…happened," she finished lamely.

"I don't think it did," he argued knowingly.

"Okay, maybe it's been happening for awhile," she confessed. There was no point in denying it anymore.

"You like her," he stated simply without any accusation or anger in his voice.

She nodded slowly, "I think…it's more than  _like_." She couldn't actually admit out loud that it was  _love_. Not yet, and not to Sam, but he understood nonetheless.

"Oh."

"I'm so sorry, Sam," she breathed, gazing at his blurry image through increasingly teary eyes.

"Yeah, me too," he sighed.

"I swear that I never meant to hurt you." And she really hadn't. Superficial relationship aside, he was a really great guy—kind, and considerate and really cute. She should have been able to fall in love with him.

He managed a half-smile and shrugged a shoulder. "It only stings a little. I kind of knew you didn't love me," he admitted. "At least you're not dumping me for another guy."

"So, dumping you for a girl makes it better?" she couldn't resist asking, because she really would have thought that would be worse for a guy—like an insult to his masculinity or something stupid like that.

Sam's smile got a little wider. "Yeah, it kind of does, actually."

 _Okay, ew._ "I swear to God if you ask to watch us make out, I'll have the hockey team drench you in so many blueberry slushies that you'll permanently pass for one of your stupid Avatar things."

"You've made out?" he asked with a glazed look in his eyes, completely ignoring the threat.

"No," she growled. "I don't…I don't even know if she…feels that way about me," and Quinn realized a little sickly that it was true. Her feelings might not be reciprocated. Yes, Rachel had wanted to talk about the undeniable tension between them, but she'd never made any confessions, or given any real indication that she was interested in anything more than friendship.

Sam frowned a little. "You haven't told her, then?"

"We haven't even talked about what happened at the party. Of course, I didn't tell her that I'm…"

"Gay?" he supplied helpfully.

Quinn felt most of her breath rush out of her. There is was—that word that she couldn't say—actually attached to her for the first time. And the world hadn't ended. God hadn't struck her down where she was sitting. She took a deep, cleansing breath and met Sam's eyes again. He didn't look angry, or disgusted by her. Everything was exactly as it had been five minutes ago but entirely different.

"You know, somehow I never imagined that my boyfriend would be the first person I'd come out to."

"Is that what you're doing? Coming out?" he asked gently.

Quinn swallowed heavily, whispering, "I don't know."

Sam smiled again. "Well, I can always be your big, gay beard if you want."

"Why would you do that?"

He cocked his head to side and grinned. "Honestly? It doesn't exactly hurt my image to be dating the head cheerleader."

"So you were just using me?" she accused him without any real malice. She'd be kind of a hypocrite to be mad about it when she'd been doing the same.

He shook his head in denial. "No, I wasn't. The popularity boost was just an added benefit to dating the most beautiful girl in school," he told her sincerely, and she felt herself blush at the compliment. "I care about you, Quinn. I don't want to just be  _nothing_  to you anymore, and if that means I'm your friend, or your lesbro, or your beard, then I'm okay with that."

Okay, crying again really sucked, but "God, you're such an amazing guy. I wish…"

"Yeah, me too," he agreed, cupping her face and tenderly wiping her tears away with his thumbs, "but you can't change how you feel, Quinn, and you shouldn't have to try."

"I'm kind of terrified right now," she admitted shakily. Everything was suddenly so real, and she didn't have a clue what to do next. Sensing her disquiet, Sam pulled her into his arms and she gratefully sank into his hug, resting her head on his strong shoulder.

"I'm here if you need to talk. And I know it's kind of the unpopular opinion at school, but for what it's worth, I think Rachel's actually a pretty amazing girl—when she's not trying so hard."

"She tries so hard because nobody ever meets her halfway," Quinn automatically defended, feeling kind of warm and fuzzy inside that Sam would say something so nice about the girl who his girlfriend was basically dumping him for. And didn't that sentence sound all kinds of weird in her head?

"See…you  _get_  her," he said, pulling back so he could look in her eyes, "and you're already defending her. That right there puts you light years ahead of Finn."

"It really doesn't take much," she said dryly, rolling her eyes, and Sam laughed a little—but only a little, because Finn was still his bro.

"So…what's the plan?" he finally asked.

"Plan?" she echoed stupidly.

"To woo Rachel? I mean, you have to have a plan right? You can't just walk up and kiss her."

But God did she ever want to. This whole self-realization thing had opened up the door for all her sexual fantasies to come spilling out. "You don't think that would work?" she joked.

Sam chuckled. "Would it work on you?"

"It sort of already did," she admitted, smiling at the memory of that incredible kiss.

"Yeah, I don't think you want Rachel to react as badly as you did, though," he told her, reminding her of her massive gay panic and how awful she'd been.

"I kind of thought we should just start with talking about our feelings, then go from there."

"Well, that's no fun," Sam pouted. "I figured you'd go for a serenade or something and I could be your guitarist."

Quinn laughed, knowing how much Rachel would actually love that. "Maybe later."

 

•••

When Quinn walked into school on Tuesday, it was like a switch had been flipped inside of her. She no longer felt the need to rationalize her daily eagerness to see Rachel as curiosity over what fashion disaster the girl would be wearing, or another opportunity to throw out an insult—or more recently, as friendly concern for her well-being. She could finally admit that she just wanted to see the object of her affections.

Unfortunately, there was still the not insignificant matter of finding out if Rachel could ever feel the same way. She knew there was a mutual attraction—that had been obvious enough since their kiss—but that didn't necessarily mean that Rachel wanted to  _date_  her. Not that Quinn was ready for dating another girl anyway, at least not publicly. The closet door might finally be open, but she wasn't planning on running through it anytime soon.

And that was another potential problem. Rachel Berry was not the type of person to ever agree to hiding in the closet with  _anyone_ , not even Quinn Fabray—not that she wasn't planning on using every weapon available in her vast arsenal to convince the girl otherwise. She already had more than a few tricks she was eager to try, so convincing Rachel could actually turn out to be really fun. But she was jumping the gun again. First talking, and then hopefully a little kissing, then they would talk some more (because Rachel excelled at that) and figure out if they had something worth fighting for. Quinn hoped they did, because it would really suck if the first girl she'd fallen for didn't love her back.

She knew Rachel cared about her. If the gentle way she'd treated Quinn yesterday hadn't been indication enough, then the concerned text from the singer last night asking if she was okay after her emotional breakdown cemented the fact. The exchange had been short and sweet—mostly because Quinn had kept erasing every really meaningful thing she tried to type.

The real problem was, Quinn had witnessed Rachel Berry in various states of infatuation on more than one occasion, and she knew the girl tended to be a little more… _fixated_  on her crushes. The fact that she wasn't obsessing over Quinn and pursuing her with all she was worth—well, that didn't bode well for her chances at becoming more than Rachel's friend.

"So, Quinn, how goes the first day of the new you?" Sam asked, leaning against the wall beside her locker with a good-humored grin.

"Funny," she muttered, eyes absently scanning the hallway for a short brunette.

"Did you decide on the official party line?"

Quinn glanced up at him in confusion, "Party line?"

"Yeah, are you bearding up?"

Quinn grabbed his bicep and dug in her nails, hissing, "Shut up," as she frantically looked around to make sure no one had heard him. Satisfied that there were no unwanted ears listening in, she kept her voice carefully low. "Exactly where in our conversation last night did you get the idea that it would be okay to discuss this at school?"

"Sorry," he mumbled guiltily, and she released her death grip on his arm. "I just thought…"

"Well, don't," she snapped, then took a deep, calming breath. "Look, Sam, I really do appreciate that you're being so understanding about this whole thing, but that doesn't mean you get to run your mouth whenever you want. I still have a reputation to protect, and so do you." She narrowed her eyes. "Don't forget I know all about your comic book collection and the fact that you're not only fluent in Na'vi, but also Klingon. And then there's that adorable picture your mom showed me of you when you were twelve and wearing that…"

"Okay, okay, I get it. Good to know you haven't gone soft."

She grinned, tickled by the complement. "There's a reason I'm on top, Sam. I just need a little time and the perfect strategy and I'll get everything I want."

"Yeah, I think you probably will."

But by lunchtime, Quinn still hadn't formulated the perfect plan—a fact that frustrated her greatly because Rachel was all about plans and PowerPoints, and her own utter lack of direction would undoubtedly leave the girl completely unimpressed.

She'd seen Rachel twice in the hall between classes—completely by design on Quinn's part—but other than a smile and a friendly  _hello, how are you_ , they hadn't had time to talk. That didn't stop her from spinning around after they'd passed and sneaking a peak at Rachel's short polka dotted skirt from behind. It was a really nice view (even if she wished the knee socks would've stayed at home in a dark drawer.)

Quinn was bouncing on her toes as she maneuvered through the lunch line—something that Santana would have slapped her for if she'd been around—because Rachel was already laughing and talking with Kurt while she was wasting valuable time staring at the mystery meat just so she could pay for the stupid wilted lettuce that passed for a salad. She'd probably be too nervous to eat the stupid thing anyway. Sam was right behind her, and he placed a hand on her lower back, bending down to whisper, "What happened to cool and aloof?"

She glared back over her shoulder at his teasing smile. "Stuff it, Sam." Of course, he immediately made her feel guilty by slapping the money down to pay for her lunch as well as his own.

They made their way through the cafeteria and skipped over their normal table, garnering more than a few looks of confusion—Finn's being the most obvious. Santana shot her a knowing look, but there was a weird little smile on her lips that almost looked encouraging. Yeah, that had to be a trick of the light.

Taking a breath, Quinn slid onto the bench and scooted over to make room for Sam, bumping her hip and thigh right up against Rachel's—completely unintentionally, of course. The feel of soft, warm skin sent a shiver of awareness racing through her system. She felt the other girl jump in surprise and the muscles in her leg tense, but Rachel didn't flinch away from the contact, and she grinned. "Hi, Rach," she purred, ignoring the slightly dumbfounded expressions that Kurt and Mercedes were wearing and focusing all her attention on Rachel's beautiful, equally surprised face.

The girl recovered quickly enough, smiling that special Rachel smile that only seemed to come in those moments when she was feeling truly content. "Hello, Quinn. Sam," she added pleasantly, leaning forward to make eye contact with the boy, and Quinn noticed her smile grow just the tiniest bit forced around the edges when she addressed him.

"Hey," he nodded.

"Not that you aren't welcome to sit here, but why exactly are you?" Kurt asked.

Quinn pried her eyes from Rachel to raise an eyebrow at the boy. "Do I need to have a reason?"

"Of course not," Rachel cut in with a chastising look at Kurt. "We're happy to have you both join us, it's just…unexpected."

"Sometimes the best things are," Sam said with a slight chuckle in his voice, and Quinn jerked her elbow hard into his side. "Ow…H-how about Schuester's latest assignment?" he covered with cough, rubbing his hand over his bruised ribs. "You guys pick a song yet?"

Rachel's eyes went wide . "Kurt! You told me he didn't give out any assignments yesterday."

"He didn't exactly. He just asked us all to brainstorm possible duets to use at Regionals," Kurt reluctantly admitted.

"And you didn't share this with me!" Rachel exclaimed indignantly, placing her hands flat on the table and gearing up for a long-winded rant. "I should have started on a list of possible selections last night."

Kurt grimaced. "Rachel…"

"I need sufficient time to examine my extensive musical library and, of course, determine which of my potential male leads would best suit my list of song selections now that Finn is entirely out of the question..."

"Rachel…" he tried again.

"…and I have to prepare the sheet music to present to Mr. Schuester…"

"Rachel," Quinn said softly, giving into temptation and laying her left hand over the other girl's right and gently squeezing. The simple touch instantly silenced Rachel. "Don't worry about it. You could probably write that list in your sleep," she soothed, stifling her urge to giggle at how adorably confused Rachel looked staring down at their joined hands.

From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Kurt and Mercedes share a stunned glance, but when she turned her full attention on them, Mercedes was already aiming an annoyed glare at Rachel. "Besides…nobody says you're gonna be singing lead."

"And nobody says she isn't," Quinn calmly challenged. She adored Mercedes, but really, when it came to star quality…Rachel would win hands down every time. She'd been able to admit that much even when she'd been convinced she hated the girl.

"Perhaps this time Mr. Schuester will handle things professionally and actually hold auditions for the featured solos," Kurt offered fairly.

"Auditions?" Rachel squeaked, finally snapping her eyes away from Quinn's hand still warmly resting over her own and rejoining the conversation.

"It's only fair, right? Best singer wins."

Rachel's eyes narrowed on her vocal rival, and her hand slipped out from under Quinn's as she moved to cross her arms. "Is that a challenge, Mercedes?"

"Always, girlfriend," she responded with a genuine smile.

"It's so on," Rachel growled playfully, and Quinn shivered in anticipation. Confident Rachel was so freaking hot.

"Yeah, but what are the chances of Mr. Schuester doing that?" Sam wanted to know.

"Slim to none," Kurt responded, and they all nodded their agreement.

Rachel picked up her fork and speared a tomato. Quinn glanced down at her own salad, idly wondering why she didn't get any tomatoes, just lettuce and cucumbers. She really liked tomatoes, especially that one that was currently hovering in front of Rachel's lips.

_Yeah, watching her eat isn't freaky at all, Fabray. But God, that mouth!_

Quinn sucked in a breath and gathered up her courage. "So, Rachel, do you…maybe want to…hang out tonight?"

_Oh, you are so lame!_

Rachel froze, fork in mid-air. "Hang…out?" she echoed.

"I have practice after school, but we could get together later and do something,"  _like make out in my bedroom all night._ "Watch a movie or," Quinn paused, dropping her voice and licking her lips, "talk."

"Talk?"

_Again with the repeating? And the blank expression is not really boosting my confidence here._

"Yes.  _Talk_ ," she said meaningfully, trying to convey with her eyes the weight of that word.

"Oh." Quinn watched Rachel's eyes spark with comprehension. Her cheeks blushed pink and her breathing grew a little shallow. "Ah…I don't," she cleared her throat and dropped her dark eyes to the table. "I actually have a dance class tonight," she finally rushed out.

Quinn's heart sank at the rejection, and she whispered, "Oh."

"What? Rachel you don't…Oh my god!" Kurt shrieked, jumping up from his seat when Rachel flailed her hand and sent his nearby slushie cup spilling over the table and into his lap. "This is an Alexander McQueen! Rachel Barbra Berry, I'm going to kill you," he growled, carefully dabbing at the icy slush.

Rachel looked horrified. "I'm  _so_  sorry, Kurt. I'll help you clean it up."

"Clean it? You don't just rinse out a designer sweater in the sink," Kurt wailed.

"Then I'll pay for the dry cleaning bill," she vowed.

"Ugh!" Kurt turned heal and fled, presumably for the nearest bathroom.

Rachel stood abruptly and shot an apologetic look to the other three people at the table. "I should…ah…I'm just going to…go…and…apologize," she explained, casting one last sorrowful glance at Quinn before she ran after her friend.

Quinn sat there staring at the puff of smoke that Rachel had disappeared into. She wasn't stupid. She knew what had just happened. Rachel pulled an excuse out of her ass to avoid being alone with Quinn, going so far as to  _accidentally_  slushie Kurt's sweater so he wouldn't rat her out.

She felt like she couldn't breath properly, like her heart didn't want to keep beating. How could Rachel do that to her? They'd  _kissed_ , damn it. They'd had  _moments_. There was  _flirting._ Ten minutes ago, Rachel had been pressing her leg back against Quinn's under the table and reacting to her touch. Quinn couldn't have been imagining all of that.

"Hey, you okay," Sam murmured in her ear.

"You don't look so hot, Quinn," Mercedes added.

"I'm fine," she muttered, pushing her tray away. "Just…lost my appetite."

She hastily stood from the table and bolted, ignoring her friends' concerned looks. She didn't even know where she was going, just that she needed to be away from Sam and Mercedes before she said or did something she'd regret. Okay, so what? Rachel hadn't just jumped into her arms like she was supposed to—like any  _normal_ person would do when Quinn Fabray expressed an interest. Rachel had never been normal. Quinn could deal with that. She just needed to take a moment to regroup and…

_No._

_This was not okay._

Quinn would be damned if she was just going to let Rachel Berry run away from this thing between them like a scared rabbit.  _Dance class?_ Fine. She wanted to play it that way, so be it. They were going to have that talk eventually, even if she had to lock them up in another classroom to do it.


	20. Just A Phase

**Just A Phase**

"Kurt, I really am so sorry."

Rachel leaned her hip against the sink and watched as Kurt dabbed at his stained sweater. He'd already changed into a fresh shirt, courtesy of his own emergency kit. She felt horrible. She really hadn't meant for the boy to get a lap full of slushie, she'd just wanted to stop him from contradicting her story and had gotten a little carried away with spilling his drink.

"I'll pay for it," she offered again.

"Yes, you will," he agreed, finally calm enough to respond verbally instead of with indignant huffs. "And I'll forgive you if you tell me why you just lied to Quinn."

Her posture drooped and she raised a hand to rub at her eyes, wishing she had an appropriate answer to appease him, but truthfully, she'd just…freaked. Her synapses had started misfiring the moment Quinn sat down—practically on top of her—and she'd never really been able to recover. Oh, she supposed that she'd done an admirable job of faking it, but approximately ninety-five percent of her brain had been completely Quinn-centric. Quinn had been so close, and she'd smelled so good and her skin had been glowing, and dear lord, that breathy, sexy voice made Rachel want to do all kinds of dirty, wicked things to the girl. And then Quinn had touched her, put her hand on top of Rachel's on purpose and left it there, and suddenly everything felt too real.

Until that moment, Rachel had honestly believed that she was ready to have  _the talk_  with Quinn, but she'd also believed that Quinn would keep avoiding the issue for weeks, maybe even months, probably until the whole thing just faded into oblivion. As it turned out, Rachel was not ready at all for an open and willing Quinn Fabray.

And especially not when the girl's boyfriend was sitting right beside her reminding Rachel that all of her wickedly impure thoughts were also decidedly adulterous. Nothing could  _ever_  happen between them while Quinn was still in a relationship with Sam.

She glanced up at Kurt and sighed. "I can't. Not here anyway," she clarified, finally admitting that she really needed to talk to someone about all of this—and who better than Kurt? "Could you possibly come to my house after school today?"

"Well, since you actually  _don't_  have other plans, I'll be happy to. Shall I bring the ice cream again?" he asked with a sympathetic smile.

"I actually have a few cartons in the freezer already, but thanks," Rachel said wryly. The last few weeks really had been an emotional roller coaster.

 

•••

As was her habit, Rachel arrived to her Literature class early. She occupied herself by flipping through the textbook, reading over some of the poems in the back, and tried to keep from turning around and glancing at the door every ten seconds. She was midway through  _The Road Not Taken_  (for the third time) when she felt a tingling of awareness at the base of her neck, immediately followed by an outbreak of goose bumps spreading rapidly over her arms. A shadow fell over her desk, and she drew in a fortifying breath before she looked up to see Quinn standing beside her, hands on her hips and not looking particularly happy.

Rachel ignored the sliver of foreboding and forced her best show face, smiling brightly. "Hello again, Quinn."

Those hazel eyes narrowed on her. "Can I sit here?" she asked, not bothering to wait for an answer before dropping into the chair and saying, "Good." She turned sideways in her seat to face Rachel, and her bare knee bumped Rachel's thigh, causing prickles of heat to dance over the skin. "What the hell is your problem, Berry?"

Rachel sighed, silently lamenting the fact that she'd gone from Rach back to Berry in less than two hours—and all by her own doing. "Well, I suppose that would depend upon whom you ask…"

"Don't be cute. I know you don't have a dance class today—and  _you're_  the one who wanted to," she paused and dropped her voice, " _talk_."

"I'm sorry, Quinn," she said earnestly, deciding against any attempt to perpetuate an excuse that Quinn clearly hadn't bought into. "I just…can't tonight."

Quinn continued to study her, the hard look in her eyes gradually melting into vulnerability. "Why not?" she asked softly.

And, oh lord, this girl was proving seriously dangerous to her resolve. Rachel really didn't want to lie to Quinn again—she really wasn't very good at it, but, "I do have another commitment,"  _not a lie, precisely_ , "one that is…somewhat personal,"  _completely true_ , "and prevents me from accepting your invitation," _and please don't ask me what it is because then I really will have to lie to you again._

Quinn started to nibble on her lip, and Rachel stifled a groan. She really needed to stop  _doing_  that—it was insanely sexual.

"What about tomorrow, after glee?"

_Crap, so much for prolonging the inevitable._

Well, at least she would have more time to seriously hypothesize all of Quinn's probable reactions to a possible romantic entanglement and prepare a list of potential speaking points and appropriate counterpoints should the need arise to defend her position.

_What exactly is my position again? Because I seriously can't concentrate when she looks at me that way…all soft and hopeful and…oh, I am so, so screwed._

Rachel swallowed heavily and nodded. "That would be…lovely."

 

•••

True to his word, Kurt appeared at Rachel's doorstep after school and didn't waste anytime dragging her up to her bedroom and getting to the point. "So, Diva, dish. Why are you suddenly avoiding Quinn Fabray?"

"I'm not avoiding her, per se," she hedged. "Just…delaying."

Kurt rolled his eyes and flopped back against the headboard of her bed. "Stop being cryptic and just spill it."

Rachel sank onto her mattress beside him and mirrored his position, tipping her chin up and staring forlornly at the ceiling. "She wants to  _talk._ "

"And you love to talk," he teased. "I fail to see the problem."

Rachel ignored his good-natured barb. Closing her eyes, she murmured, "She wants to talk about…Noah's party. About our kiss."

"You mean you haven't done that yet?"

He sounded a bit incredulous, and she opened her eyes to look at him. "No," she admitted.

Kurt shook his head. "I guess I assumed that you had—seeing how friendly you two are becoming."

Rachel heard his tone, and she sighed. "Stop it, Kurt. I know that you know it's more than that." She was a little bit psychic, after all.

He dropped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his side. "So, you're finally ready to admit it?"

"I…don't know," she confessed unhappily. "I thought I was, but Quinn obviously wasn't. She's been refusing to acknowledge any attraction for weeks, and she completely freaked out yesterday when just the possibility of talking about it was mentioned." Rachel frowned and looked at Kurt suspiciously. "And by the way, I would still like to know who locked us in that room together. That prank could have had dire consequences."

Kurt's hold on her slackened and he glanced away. "But it didn't," he reasoned.

"Kurt, if you had  _anything_  to do with that…"

"I didn't! I swear on my Ferragamos," he vowed, raising his right hand, and Rachel was fairly certain that he wasn't lying. Kurt swearing on articles of his wardrobe was the equivalent of the Pope swearing on the Bible. "Now, continue," he urged.

"I…I have feelings for Quinn," she finally admitted quietly. It felt strange to say it out loud to someone for the first time.

"You don't say," he said flatly, raising an eyebrow.

"Can you please not be sarcastic?" she begged. Admitting that she had romantic feelings for the head cheerleader was hard enough for her to do without having Kurt, of all people, treat it as a joke.

He ducked his head and grinned sheepishly. "Sorry."

She slouched down onto the mattress until she was lying on her back with her hands folded primly over her stomach and eyes fixed on her ceiling once again. "It's just…we've been avoiding the issue of our kiss since it happened and I thought that we needed to discuss it and now that Quinn actually wants to…I'm afraid."

Kurt slid down onto his side and faced Rachel, head propped up on his hand. "Afraid you'll end up hurt again?" he asked sympathetically.

"Yes," she admitted, then turned her head to look up into his eyes, "but more afraid that I'll end up hurting her."

Kurt's head slipped off his hand and he had to catch himself from face-planting. "Hurting  _her_?" he parroted in disbelief, shifting to allow his back to fall onto the mattress.

Sighing, Rachel rolled onto her right side and snuggled closer to Kurt, pressing her cheek against his chest. "You know that my romantic history has been less than spectacular. I get caught up in my feelings so easily and I jump into everything too fast and I want everything too much and what if I'm doing it again?" she worried, pausing to take a breath. "What if I only  _think_  that I liked kissing Quinn? What if my sudden emotional attachment to her is confusing my hormones and is, in reality, nothing more that the affection that one feels toward a friend?" Rachel twisted her fingers into the boy's shirt. "I don't really have any other close female friends to compare this to, Kurt! How do I know the difference?"

"Okay, Rachel, slow down," he said, prying her hand from his rapidly wrinkling Marc Jacobs. "For one thing, you don't kiss your friends the way you kissed Quinn."

Well, wasn't that her entire point? She'd never kissed a  _friend_  to know that! She'd only kissed boys that she'd already designated as potential significant others. The whole experience with Quinn had been so unexpected, and Rachel was still trying to catch her breath and figure out what it all meant. "It could have just been a…one time reaction. I don't even know if I'm attracted to girls in general, or if it's just Quinn. After serious reflection on my past entanglements, I must admit that I am genuinely attracted to boys."

Perhaps she hadn't been exactly overwhelmed by her physical responses to Finn since early sophomore year, but she definitely felt  _something_ very pleasant every time she kissed Noah.

"But not enough to have sex with them, apparently," he pointed out with a knowing smirk.

Rachel pushed away from him and sat up in a huff. "Kurt! I'm just not ready to take that step yet," she insisted, ignoring the little voice in her head telling her that she'd probably toss out her decision to wait until she was twenty-five in a heartbeat for Quinn.

"If you say so." He sat up and spun around, sitting Indian style across from her.

"I don't know what to do. I don't have a plan for this," she confessed miserably. "I don't want to hurt Quinn if it turns out that this is all just a phase."

Because if Quinn really was attracted to Rachel, and at a point where she was ready to admit it, then there was a very good chance that all of this was far more than  _just a phase_ for Quinn. She'd be taking a life-altering leap of faith, and if Rachel wasn't able to meet her halfway—well, she'd never forgive herself if she let Quinn fall and she wasn't there to catch her. For once, she refused to make her usual mistake of rushing into something without thinking of the consequences.

Kurt silently studied her for a few moments, tilting his head to the side as he considered everything that she'd said. "So kiss another girl," he finally instructed her matter-of-factly.

"What?" That was a horrible idea. Kissing a girl had started all this confusion—and she didn't want to kiss another one—only Quinn.

"Just hear me out. You're saying that you don't know if your door really swings both ways, or if you're just gay for Fabray," he observed with a turn of phrase eerily similar to Santana. "So test yourself with another girl that you find attractive. That way, you'll at least know what you really have to offer Quinn before you talk to her."

Kurt was perfectly serious and smiling proudly at his reasoning, and Rachel gaped at him. "You've clearly lost your mind."

"Come on, it's a brilliant plan," he effused, slapping her lightly on her knee.

"It's really not," she disagreed. "Most  _boys_  don't even want to kiss me, and they're fairly indiscriminate. Yet you want me to find a  _girl_ willing to kiss me." Did he not realize that almost every girl they went to school with whom Rachel deemed attractive—and there were admittedly quite a few—had made it a point to remind her how  _unattractive_  and  _undesirable_  they thought  _she_ was at every opportunity?

Kurt's grin was slightly unsettling. "I think I know at least one—besides Quinn, of course," he qualified, "and she'll jump at the chance to cross you off her list."

 

•••

"This is a bad idea," Rachel muttered for the eleventh time as she paced back and forth across the choir room on Wednesday. Kurt was sitting in one of the plastic chairs with his arms crossed and a bored expression on his face.

"No, it isn't. And stop pacing, you're making me nauseous."

She threw her hands out in frustration. "This entire plan is a mistake," she repeated for emphasis. "I need to go." She turned on her heel and started for the door, only to be impeded by the sudden appearance of a tall, blonde cheerio.

"Hey, Rachel. Hi, Kurt."

"Uh…hi, Brittany," Rachel responded, self-consciously pulling at her shirt—which was annoyingly tight and revealing thanks to Kurt's meddling. He'd riffled through her closet last night in search of the perfect outfit (as if dressing to entice another girl had some required dress code of which she was unaware) and came up with the aforementioned red, fitted blouse that she really should have thrown out two years ago and a short, black skirt to show off her  _best assets_ , as Kurt had phrased it. He'd banned her from wearing any and all knee socks or colored tights.

Brittany's baby-blue gaze trailed down Rachel's body appreciatively. "You look hot today. I like you better when you're not wearing clothes that hurt my eyes."

"T-thank you. I think."

"So, why did you want me to come to the choir room? Are we practicing a song?"

Kurt gracefully bounced up from his chair and walked over to the girls, lightly wrapping his arm around Brittany. "No song, Brit-Brit. We have a favor to ask you."

"What kind of favor?" she asked suspiciously, "because you should probably know that I'm not allowed to set foot in certain parts of the school. I got banned from the swimming pool last year for letting the ducks use it for winter vacation," she warned them.

Kurt shook his head. "Don't worry, no swimming required. We just want you to kiss Rachel so she'll know if she likes girls."

"Kurt!" Rachel punched his arm, annoyed by his bluntness, then turned to Brittany with a blush. "You don't need to. I don't want to impose."

Brittany smiled down at her. "You don't need to pose. I'll totally kiss you anyway."

"You will?" she breathed out in wonder. Sure, Brittany had offered to make out with her after Christmas, but the whole conversation had been very strange and Rachel had mostly thought that Brittany just felt sorry for her.

"I've always kind of wanted to know what your lips feel like," Brittany revealed, lifting her hand to brush aside a strand of dark hair from Rachel's temple. "They look really soft." She started to lean in, and Rachel experienced a moment of panic.

"I…don't think I can do this," she whispered nervously.

"Yes, you can. You won't get in trouble this time," Brittany reassured her.

"I don't want you to get in trouble with Artie…or anyone else," and she really, really didn't want to invite any unnecessary confrontations with Santana Lopez. Navigating the emotional minefield that was Quinn Fabray was quite enough to deal with.

Brittany beamed down at her. "That's really sweet. I'm totally gonna kiss you now," she announced as she wrapped her arms around Rachel's waist and pulled their bodies closer.

"O-okay," Rachel puffed over Brittany's lips as they descended. She tensed under the kiss with eyes open and mouth tightly closed.

_Okay…kissing another girl. It's not horrible. Brittany's lips are soft...not as soft as Quinn's, but all in all, it's very nice._

Her eyes fluttered closed and she allowed herself to relax—after all, she needed to make a proper comparison in order to seriously consider the nature of her sexuality. She parted her lips slightly and started to return the kiss. There was no shock of electricity to render her mentally incapacitated, so she was fully able to take note of all her reactions. Her knees remained locked in place and there were certainly no violins or butterflies…although she had to concede there  _was_  a pleasant little tingling in her belly. Nothing too overwhelming, but certainly enough of an incentive to continue. If required to categorize the experience, she'd say that kissing Brittany definitely ranked higher than kissing Finn, or Jesse…closer to Noah for technique alone but nowhere near Quinn and…

 _Oh, my…is that her tongue? She's certainly very forward…and talented. Extremely talented_ _—_ _and, sweet Barbra, that's a nifty trick… Oh…yes…those tingles are really very, very pleasant indeed._

Brittany pulled away with a grin, and Rachel stumbled forward, a little off balance. "Wow," she murmured, "you're really good at that."

"I know," Brittany shrugged unfazed. "So are you, actually. I guess all that talking made your tongue extra strong."

"Okay, don't need to hear the details," Kurt interrupted, reminding them both that he was still in the room and looking very uncomfortable with their display.

"So, are you gonna kiss Quinn now?" Brittany asked innocently.

Rachel gasped, ready to deny it, but one look at Brittany's face told her it would be pointless. "How did you know?"

"I'm not stupid, Rachel," she pouted.

"No. No, you're not," Rachel agreed quietly, and apparently, she hadn't been nearly as subtle with her infatuation as she'd imagined.

"So,  _are_ you?" Brittany repeated. "'Cause you and Q will be so hot together."

Rachel smiled a little. "Only if she's agreeable."

"She totally will be. But if she isn't…" Brittany trailed off, cupping Rachel's jaw and tilting her head back so that she could land another steamy, opened mouth kiss. She finished with a little kitten lick across Rachel's lower lip and purred, "you can kiss me any time you want."

Brittany winked and shimmied out of the choir room with a bounce in her step and a sexy sway to her hips, leaving Rachel staring after her in awe. And,  _yes_ , she was totally admiring her very nice rear end. The way that girl moved should be illegal.

"Well, Rachel Barbra Berry, you lady killer, you," Kurt teased, giving her a one armed hug.

"I think…I think I really like girls," she said in amazement.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Tell me something I don't already know."


	21. Really Kind Of Wonderful

**Really Kind Of Wonderful**

Quinn could still be seen walking the halls of McKinley with Sam on Wednesday since they hadn't gone public with their breakup yet. She really should do something about that, but the truth was that she wasn't quite ready to give up the safety net. The whole beard idea had some definite appeal. A lot of people were already looking at her strangely for being friendly to Rachel, and she didn't want to think about how much worse it could be if not for Sam's presence as a buffer.

She wouldn't have that buffer at lunch today because Finn had pouted about being abandoned and Sam had placated his bro with an offer to work out. "You probably don't want him sitting there staring longingly at Rachel anyway. You can do that all by yourself," Sam had joked, earning him a slap on the arm. It was truer than Quinn liked to admit, because she knew Finn wasn't exactly over Rachel and she really didn't want to revisit  _that_ triangle again, even if the dynamics had changed dramatically. Or at least, she hoped they had. After yesterday, she couldn't be sure  _what_  Rachel was feeling anymore.

The girl's attempt at evasion was really doing a number on Quinn's self-confidence. She didn't know what to expect today, or even if Rachel would have suddenly manufactured another excuse to get out of spending time alone with her tonight. She kept jumping back and forth between preparing herself to accept rejection and plotting ways to  _make_  Rachel fall in love with her—and she was leaning pretty heavily toward option number two.

Her mood didn't improve much when she saw that the girl in question was missing from her usual table, as was Kurt. The sight that greeted her instead was Mercedes and Santana sitting across from one another having some kind of staring match.

_Well, that can't be good._

She slid onto the bench next to Santana and smiled at Mercedes, greeting them with a soft "hi," which Mercedes at least echoed. "Um…where are Rachel and Kurt?" Quinn asked with as much nonchalance as she could muster.

"Probably off singing show tunes," Santana grumbled, still glaring at the girl across from her.

Mercedes rolled her eyes. "Kurt said they had some psychology project to do."

"Okay," Quinn drawled, a little disappointed, but more curious about what she'd interrupted. "Care to clue me in on your little love-fest?"

"No," Santana spat.

Mercedes snorted, "Ms. Lonely Hearts is being extra bitchy 'cause Brittany still hasn't forgiven her for trying to sleep with Artie."

"What!" Quinn shrieked, turning to scowl at Santana. "Is  _that_  what you did to piss her off?"

"It's not like he went for it."

"What the hell is wrong with you? Do you seriously feel the need to have sex with everyone in this school?"

"Please, I'm not  _that_  indiscriminate," Santana fired back. "I wouldn't do Aretha here if she begged me."

"Like I'd ever beg for scraps," Mercedes sassed.

"Couldn't tell by your dress size, Big Momma."

Mercedes snickered, "See…that insult doesn't even bother me. You're losing your touch, girl."

"Can you both just stop?" Quinn said, frustrated with their bickering. "Why would you do something like that to Brittany?" she asked Santana. They were supposed to be friends…or  _not_  friends…or  _not_  dating…or whatever they were calling themselves this week.

"Gee, I don't know, Q. What could I  _possibly_  have to gain by breaking up Brittany and Wheels?" Santana asked sarcastically. "He's  _such_  a good boyfriend, what with the talking down to her and treating her like she's stupid and then still expecting her to ride his little gimpy di..."

"Woah," Mercedes cut in with a frown. "You need to stop talking right now! I don't want to hear that stuff about Artie. He's a really good guy."

"Right, good guy—that's why Tina dumped his ass," Santana reminded them.

"I thought she fell for Mike's abs," Quinn asked absently. She  _had_  thought it seemed kind of shallow at the time, but then, she didn't have much room to judge.

"Boy does have a nice six-pack," Mercedes agreed.

"If you're into that sort of thing," she mumbled, chewing on her lip and absently wondering if Rachel's abs were as toned as her legs.

"Which you  _are_ , right, Quinn?" Santana asked with a smirk. "I mean, you're all into your body-obsessed, bleached-out boy wonder."

"I  _wasn't_ dating him for his looks," Quinn snapped.

"But are you  _now_?" the girl asked pointedly, calling Quinn out on her slip of the tongue.

"No." Short, sweet, and completely open to whatever interpretation Santana chose.

"Where is Sam, anyway?" Mercedes wanted to know.

Quinn sighed, "He's off bonding with Finn."

The girl nodded in understanding. "You know he got into it with Puck again this morning."

"Sam?"

"No…Finnsolence," Santana sneered with a roll of her eyes. "He was all up in Puck's face about Berry. He's so not over her dumping his lame ass."

"Too bad she's so over him," Quinn said, more for her own piece of mind than anything. Rachel  _seemed_  over Finn, anyway. She'd admitted that they just didn't work as a couple. There was no way she'd ever consider taking him back again. Right?

_Oh, God. What if she is? What if that's why she's blowing me off?_

If Finn Hudson thought he was just going to snap his fingers and have Rachel running back to him, then he could damn well think again. Quinn wasn't going to let that happen. Even if Rachel didn't want to be with  _her_ , she wasn't about to let the girl settle for some selfish guy who just got off on being mindlessly adored and didn't even bother to make his girlfriend feel like the beautiful, amazing woman that she was.

"Yeah, well, I guess we'll see about that," Santana challenged with a knowing look.

Quinn met her eyes without hesitation. "I guess we will."

 

•••

"Are we making a habit of this?" Rachel asked with a soft smile as Quinn settled into the chair next to her in class.

Quinn didn't pretend to misunderstand. She'd spent most of middle school and freshman year avoiding contact with Rachel as much as possible and insulting her whenever it wasn't. Things had changed to a degree when Quinn had joined the glee club, but she'd still never intentionally sought out Rachel's company—although apparently her subconscious had a tendency to do just that. She'd ended up standing or sitting next to Rachel so many times that she'd lost count. Quinn was definitely counting now, and she planned to be in Rachel's space at every opportunity.

"You tell me," she dared.

"Hmm, I think we might be," Rachel decided, her dark eyes sparkling with promise, and Quinn caught her breath. Her expression radiated confidence in a way that it hadn't yesterday, and she looked truly comfortable in her own skin.

Quinn licked her lips, noticing the way Rachel's gaze zeroed in on the action and didn't shy away. "So, we're still on for after school?" she asked to be certain.

Rachel's lips curved a little more, and she nodded. "That is, if Sam doesn't mind me stealing you away."

Oh, the irony in that statement… And really, Rachel didn't appear overly bothered by the possibility. In fact, she was wearing that little look of determination that meant she intended to win. Quinn couldn't stop the grin from forming on her own face at finally having  _that look_  directed at her. "He doesn't mind at all," she said honestly, curious how far Rachel would be willing to go if she thought Sam was still an issue. Not that Quinn intended to find out, even if her vanity thrilled a little at the idea of having Rachel pursue her. She was planning on telling the girl everything tonight, and damn the consequences.

Full out rejection was seeming less likely, but that didn't automatically mean that things were going to work out in Quinn's favor. They had so much bad history between them, and so many issues to sort out. Sure, the flirting was nice, but if they were actually going to have a chance at a relationship, there were some pretty hard truths they'd both have to deal with—like the fact that the McKinley High student body (and half the faculty) would never accept them coming out as a couple, and Quinn wasn't really prepared to give up her status again.

She could hardly concentrate through class for thinking about what tonight would bring. Instead, she kept sneaking glances at Rachel, who was diligently taking notes, seemingly unaffected by Quinn's presence, but Quinn couldn't claim the same. She kept noticing the way Rachel tucked her hair behind her ear every so often, and played with her pen when she wasn't writing, and especially how many times her tongue would peak out to run over her upper lip—that would be eight so far. Hello, oral fixation. She shifted in her chair to try and alleviate a little of the discomfort she was feeling, but only succeeding in making it worse.

 _So_   ** _this_** _is what sexual frustration feels like._

When the bell finally rang, Quinn followed Rachel out of class, taking the time to enjoy the enticing view of her ass in that skirt. Oh yeah, she was so very gay. How had she never noticed it before? Rachel turned to address Quinn as she cleared the doorway and raised her brows when she realized where her attention was directed. Quinn snapped her eyes up to a more respectable place, only to encounter the equally nice view of cleavage revealed by the tight red blouse, and she felt her face heat. "Ah, see you in glee, Rach," she mumbled and hurried off to the restroom to cool herself off before her last class.

An hour later, she walked into the choir room with her libido firmly in check and smiled warmly at Sam when he waved her over. "You seem happy," he observed.

"It's been a pretty good day," she said with a grin that only got bigger when Rachel walked in talking quietly with Kurt.

Rachel returned her smile, but it clearly grew a little bit guilty around the edges when she noticed Sam. Okay, so maybe Quinn shouldn't have waited to tell her that there really was no reason to worry about the boy.

Brittany skipped in pushing Artie's wheelchair, and paused beside Rachel to give her a quick hug. "Hi, Rach!"

Rachel looked a little embarrassed by the show of affection but returned the friendly greeting with a little blush. Quinn wasn't overly bothered by the hug—Brittany was very affectionate when Santana wasn't influencing her—but she instantly frowned at the shortening of Rachel's name.

"What the hell?" Santana grumbled from behind her, and she turned to look at the girl.

"Sucks to be on the receiving end," she taunted, unable to resist the dig.

Santana glared down at her with arms crossed. " _You_  suck."

Quinn giggled, "Wow, Mercedes is right. You  _are_  losing your touch."

Mr. Schuester sailed in with a smile on his face. "Okay, guys, I asked you all to bring me some suggestions for possible duets, so let's hear them."

Rachel's hand shot up, and more than a few groans echoed around the room. Quinn frowned in irritation. They could at least let her talk first before they automatically protested. Maybe they'd discover that Rachel actually had some really good suggestions.

"Mr. Schuester, I have taken it upon myself as captain to compile an extensive list of Broadway standards and popular top forty classics that I feel would be suitable for us to perform."

"That's admirable Rachel, but I'd kind of like for this to be a group exercise," he admonished. "If you want to suggest a song or two, that would be great."

Rachel huffed a little, but she didn't argue the point further—she just made her top two suggestions, and let everyone else do the same. She really was trying to be more of a team player, but it was clear that her ambition was still very much intact, and Quinn didn't really mind that at all. She actually kind of admired it.

The time passed by fairly quickly with Mercedes and Tina taking turns on ballads and Puck trying out a little rock. Quinn spent most of her time watching Rachel and anticipating what might happen when they were finally alone.

"So, do you want to follow me home?" Rachel quietly asked after practice was over, and Quinn nodded shyly, thinking that she'd never really wanted anything more.

 

•••

Twenty minutes later, she was walking through Rachel Berry's front door with butterflies dancing in her stomach. "Are your dads home?" she asked nervously, belatedly realizing that they might not be pleased to have the girl who'd given their daughter so much grief inside their home.

"Dad's working a nightshift at Lima General, and daddy typically doesn't get home from the college until after six."

"He's a teacher, right?" Quinn asked, trying to remember the few details she knew about the misters Berry.

"A professor of sociology at OSU Lima," Rachel clarified with pride in her voice, and Quinn nodded in acknowledgment as she took in the photographs scattered around the living room. They all looked so happy in every picture, unlike the formal portraits that had been on display in the Fabray household throughout Quinn's childhood.

"Are you hungry? I'm afraid we don't have much on hand, and most of what we do have is vegan friendly and requires little to no preparation," Rachel explained, "but we do have an excellent selection of take out menus."

Quinn smiled. "It's okay. I'm not really hungry."

Rachel nodded, suddenly looking a little nervous as she pulled at the hem of her shirt self-consciously. "Then I guess we should… _talk_."

"Yeah."

She sat down on the couch, and Quinn followed, angling her body toward Rachel while still being careful to keep a respectable distance between them for her own piece of mind. She was far too tempted to touch the other girl lately, and they really did need to talk before they possibly did…other things.

"So, I broke up with Sam," she blurted out with no preface.

Rachel's eyes widened and she breathed out, "Really?"

"Monday night," she added with a nod.

Rachel frowned. "But you've been  _together_  at school."

"Yeah, turns out he can be a really good friend," Quinn confessed.

"Oh. That's good," Rachel said quietly, twisting her hands anxiously in her lap.

Quinn shook her head and laughed a little. "So, this isn't awkward at all."

"I think it's a natural result of nerves."

"Do I make you nervous, Rach?" she breathed.

Rachel exhaled slowly and nodded, her eyes meeting Quinn's as she admitted, "You always have."

"You never really let on. In fact, you've been pretty much frustrating the hell out of me since we were in middle school with how much you  _don't_  react to me."

A little smile pulled at Rachel's mouth. "I'm very good at pretending."

"So am I, apparently," Quinn drolly observed. Closing her eyes, she took a breath and plunged headfirst into the unknown. "I've spent so much time hiding behind this image. Perfect daughter, perfect student, good little innocent Christian girl-next-door…and God knows I'm none of those things." She looked at Rachel again, seeing nothing but understanding and encouragement shining back at her. "As hard as I tried to make everything fit, it just never did. And when I…when I got pregnant last year, I had nothing left to hide behind."

Quinn swiped at the unshed tears that were forming, and Rachel reached over take her free hand and tangle their fingers together. "I felt so…exposed and weak…"

"You're not weak, Quinn," Rachel argued passionately. "I think that you're one of the strongest people I've ever known."

She smiled gratefully, but shook her head. "But I'm not. As soon as I had the chance, I put this uniform back on, kicked Santana out of my spot, and picked the perfect, bland boyfriend to hide behind again. And then you kissed me, and everything just came crashing right back down." Rachel frowned a little, so Quinn squeezed her hand and admitted, "I can't seem to hide from you, and I wanted to hate you for that, but I just can't. I mean, you know who you are and you speak your mind, and you never let what anyone else says stop you. And you're…really kind of wonderful, Rachel."

Rachel's mouth parted slightly, and her eyes started to sparkle with moisture. "No one's ever said that to me before," she whispered.

"I've thought it for awhile now," Quinn confessed, reaching out to gently wipe away Rachel's tears with the pad of her thumb. "I just…couldn't admit to myself that I did. I'm not supposed to feel this way, Rach. I shouldn't feel like smiling every time I see you or hear your voice…and I really shouldn't want to touch you all the time."

Brown eyes disappeared behind fluttering lids as she allowed Quinn to continue stroking curious fingers across her cheek and down her throat. "But you do?"

"I really do," she murmured breathily, inching ever closer to the other girl. "And I'm not even completely sure that I'm ready for what that means, but I can't keep denying it anymore." She waited until Rachel opened her eyes again before continuing, "I…like you. I'm attracted to you. And I think…I think I really want to kiss you right now."

Those tempting lips curved ever so slightly. "You think?"

"Know. I  _know_ ," she admitted, already leaning in as her fingers delved into Rachel's silky hair.

That first, almost hesitant brushing of lips immediately sparked a desire for more, and Quinn pressed back more firmly, opening her mouth to suckle on Rachel's plump lower lip. If she ever had any doubt in her mind that kissing Rachel a second time would affect her as strongly as it had at Puck's party, she now knew with complete certainty that the first time had only been a taste of what a kiss should feel like.

Needing to be closer, she slipped her arm around a slender waist and moaned in bliss when Rachel responded by parting her lips and allowing Quinn to deepen the kiss. Their tongues met, shyly at first, then more boldly as they danced together—exploring, and tasting. She felt the insistent hum of arousal begin low in her belly and move down to her center.

_And, oh, sweet heaven…Rachel's tongue is as talented as the rest of her._

She seriously never wanted to stop kissing this girl…well, maybe only to feel that tongue in other places…and oh, lord it was still too soon to think about  _that._ Quinn reluctantly pulled her mouth away, panting heavily as she met Rachel's dark eyes and saw her own passion reflected back at her.

Rachel looked a bit dazed, but a pleased little grin was forming on those perfect, delicious lips. "Oh, yeah," she breathed, "I definitely like girls."

Quinn echoed the sentiment wholeheartedly. "Wait…girls? Plural? Should I be worried?" she joked.

Rachel's smile dimmed and her arms slipped from Quinn's shoulders. "No…but in the spirit of complete honesty, I feel that I should make a confession."

A sliver of apprehension burrowed into Quinn's chest as she looked at Rachel's serious expression. Drawing a fortifying breath, she attempted to keep her tone light. "As long as you're not going to tell me that you kissed Santana."

Rachel dropped her gaze, mumbling, "Brittany, actually."

"What?" Quinn growled, letting go of the girl in her arms and jumping up from the couch. She'd been tearing herself to pieces for weeks over her attraction to Rachel—not even able to kiss her own boyfriend for want of the girl—and all the while Rachel had been kissing another blonde cheerleader behind her back!

"It was purely for scientific purposes," Rachel insisted earnestly, "an experiment if you will."

_An experiment. What the hell?_

Quinn narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips. "Explain," she ordered.

"I'm… attracted to you Quinn, obviously."

"Obviously," she scoffed, crossing her arms.

Rachel sighed and pushed frustrated hands through her hair, tucking it behind her ears. "But I was also attracted to Finn, and Noah, and Jesse…"

"You can stop anytime now," Quinn mumbled testily, not exactly wanting to rehash all of Rachel's past crushes.

"I care about you. Very much. More than…more that I thought was possible, considering our colorful history," Rachel confessed softly as she reached up to pry one of Quinn's hands free of her defensive posture and urge her back down onto the couch. She didn't let go, even after Quinn was sitting beside her again. "You're intelligent, and talented, and resilient, and so very, very beautiful. And when it seemed like you might actually consider exploring this mutual awareness that we've discovered…I needed to know that…that my attraction to you is real, and not just another infatuation that could potentially burn itself out. I felt that I owed it to you to reach some sort of resolution on the nature of my own sexuality before I could offer you any kind of relationship deeper than the friendship that already means so much to me. Brittany was kind enough to help me determine whether or not I am legitimately attracted to women."

Quinn frowned, realizing how logical and very Rachel-like that all sounded. "And?" she prompted, wanting to hear the final decision.

"I am."

"So you're gay?" Quinn wanted to clarify.

"I prefer not to define my sexuality based on normative classifications, but I suppose if I have to use a label, it would be bisexual, with a strong leaning to women."

Okay…not exactly what Quinn was hoping to hear, but she'd take it. "You're using the plural again," she pointed out. "I should warn you that I'm kind of possessive."

Rachel smiled beatifically. "I don't really mind."

Quinn gazed at that gorgeous face and attempted to let go of her unwarranted jealousy. Technically speaking, she hadn't had any claim on Rachel when she'd kissed Brittany, so she wasn't going to let the unfortunate  _experiment_  stop her from getting what she wanted now. "Just don't kiss anyone else," she warned just short of playfully.

"I won't," Rachel promised, brushing the backs of her fingers over Quinn's jaw. "Only you," she breathed out against Quinn's throat before planting a tiny kiss on her pulse point.

Quinn moaned in pleasure at the combination of soft lips and warm breath before dropping her head to capture Rachel's mouth once again and discovering that it just got better every time. Every stroke of Rachel's tongue against her own tightened the coil of desire in Quinn's belly, and she ghosted her fingers over deceptively supple curves, fighting the sudden urge to slip under fabric and touch more of that perfect, bronzed skin.

Rachel's inquisitive hands wandered over her back, learning the muscles and curvature. Quinn growled a little as she shifted closer and half-straddled Rachel on the couch, leaning them both back into the arm rest and aligning their bodies in the most pleasant way imaginable. Rachel arched up slightly and Quinn shuddered, dragging her mouth away with a gasp of pleasure.

"Oh, wow. I am such a lesbian," she mumbled breathlessly into Rachel's throat.

"Are you okay with that?" Rachel asked, stroking her hand over the back Quinn's neck.

She sighed, and untangled them just enough to stop herself from acting on her new-found addiction. "Honestly? Not really," she admitted, and at Rachel's frown, she clarified, "Not yet. I don't…I don't think I'll be able to walk down the hall holding your hand, but I really want to be with you, Rachel." It was best to get it out there now, before they set themselves up to get hurt with unreasonable expectations. "I want to get to know you better and see where this relationship goes."

Rachel smiled when she said relationship. "I'm agreeable to that plan."

She studied the girl's expression carefully. "Are you?"

"Believe it or not, Quinn, I'm really not ready for public displays of affection either. I think we both have enough to deal with already without adding the narrow-minded homophobes that grace the hallways of McKinley to our list of obstacles."

Quinn nodded, "I don't want you to ever think I'm ashamed of you."

"It's okay," Rachel promised with a smile. "At least we really won't have to hide our new-found…closeness in glee."

"What do you mean?" she asked with a frown.

Rachel gave her a look. "Half the club already knows."

"No, they don't," Quinn denied, sitting back against the cushions. "Well, Sam does," she admitted, "and Santana has a good idea."

"Santana? Really?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I suppose that would account for her sudden interest in me," Rachel mused, then she blushed. "Brittany knows, too, obviously," and Quinn frowned at the reminder. "As do Kurt and Mercedes."

"You told them?" Quinn asked, not really surprised. She'd kind of had the feeling for the last few days that the two knew more than they were letting on.

"I didn't have to. Kurt already knew."

"Which means so did Mercedes," Quinn finished with a chuckle.

"And I think they've actually been attempting to play matchmaker." Rachel confided.

"That…" Quinn opened her mouth to refute that ridiculous theory, but then thought better of it, "actually explains a few things," she realized.

"Like our 'accidental' shopping trip," Rachel pointed out, forming imaginary quotation marks with her fingers.

"Did you just use air quotes?" Quinn asked.

"I thought I'd try them out since you obviously do not approve of the verbal representation."

Quinn grinned widely. "You're really kind of adorable."

Rachel blushed prettily. "I'm glad you think so. You're actually kind of perfect."

"Hardly," Quinn scoffed.

"Perfect for me," Rachel added, leaning over to kiss the corner of her mouth.

Not satisfied with the little peck, Quinn cupped Rachel's jaw and gave her a real kiss, sighing happily when they finally parted. "So…I guess we've been kind of obvious." She wasn't really certain how she felt about so many people already knowing. "I think even Tina figured it out," she speculated.

"Our friends are entirely too invested in our interactions."

"Do you want to mess with them?" Quinn asked with a raised a brow and a wicked smile on her lips—one that Rachel instantly returned.

"What did you have in mind?


	22. Some Real Competition

**Some Real Competition**

Kurt was practically vibrating out of his Gucci's on Thursday thanks to Rachel Berry. She hadn't returned any of his messages and he simply couldn't wait to find out the details of her evening with Quinn—well, maybe not  _every_ detail, just the cute, romantic ones. When he entered the choir room, he took note of who was already present. Puck was hanging out up in the back row at the opposite end from Finn, and the two were still obviously pissed at one another. Tina and Mike were in the middle row and Santana was two seats over from them and behind Mercedes. Brittany was sitting next to Artie in the front row. Kurt spared them a brief glance before he settled next to Mercedes with a grin.

He wondered if Quinn and Rachel would come in together, smiling softly at one another, or maybe even hand in hand—or maybe not, he amended as he glanced over at Finn again. His stepbrother would have an absolute meltdown the second he realized that his two ex-girlfriends were gay for each other. Kurt was still surprised that Puck was handling the whole thing so well. Then again, that might have more than a little to do with the boy's disgustingly pornographic mind and all of the free visuals he was anticipating.

"So did you get any good gossip from our little diva?" Mercedes asked him with an expectant gleam in her eye.

"No," he pouted. "She's been maintaining radio silence and it's driving me crazy. I'm dying of curiosity."

She rubbed his shoulder comfortingly. "Honey, we really need to get you a hobby."

"Well, if Blaine would ever open his eyes and realize that we're perfect for one another, I wouldn't need to live vicariously through my friends."

"Somehow I don't think that…uh oh," she trailed off, eyes moving to the door. "That doesn't look promising."

Kurt whipped his head around to see Quinn stroll into the choir room hand in hand with the wrong person. Sam was grinning widely and the two appeared more coupley than they had for weeks. "Maybe she's just trying to let him down easily," he hypothesized.

The two sat in the middle of the front row on the other side of Mercedes and Kurt watched as Sam wrapped a possessive arm around Quinn's shoulders and she happily dropped her head onto his shoulder with a content smile.

"Um…yeah…or maybe not," Mercedes observed.

Kurt frowned. That was not part of the plan. He cast a questioning glance back at Santana, but the girl rolled her eyes and shrugged. "Don't look at me, Glitter. You all told me to leave the boy alone."

A minute later, Rachel marched in, paused to shoot a disgusted look at the blonde couple and headed right up behind Kurt to sit next to Santana. He angled around to look at Rachel in concern, but she cut him off before he even had a chance to open his mouth.

"I don't want to talk about it," she snapped, crossing her arms defensively.

"But…"

"Not talking about it. Ever. So back off."

The hardness in her eyes convinced him that she was dead serious, and he decided against pushing the issue right then. Obviously something had gone horribly wrong on their little date and he'd just have to wait until Rachel was more amenable to spilling her guts. Kurt turned and slouched down in his chair, frustrated that the stubborn girls kept thwarting all of his perfectly good plans.

"Gotta say, Berry. I'm likin' the  _don't-fuck-with-me_  attitude," Santana casually commented.

"Why, thank you, Santana," Rachel drawled huskily. "I must admit—the release it provides is quite  _satisfying._ " Kurt and Mercedes both twisted around in surprise at the blatant innuendo dripping from Rachel's honey-smooth voice. "I can definitely see the attraction," Rachel continued with a sultry half-smile aimed at Santana, who for her part looked stunned.

"Ah…yeah…a-attraction," Santana stuttered.

Kurt glanced over to evaluate Quinn's reaction, only to see her still carelessly leaning into Sam, face calm and unaffected. What the hell?

"I have to confess," Rachel added flirtatiously, leaning closer to the Santana. "I have always found your approach to life very,  _very_   _appealing_." She trailed a finger lightly over Santana's tanned arm, and Santana actually blushed a little. "And I think you could…teach me a few things," Rachel finished suggestively.

Kurt saw Santana's gaze dip to Rachel's lips in obvious consideration and he cringed. "Ay, dios, you're good," she finally conceded.

Rachel smirked, "You have  _no_  idea."

"Yeah, I could have lived without hearing any of that, thanks," Mercedes complained.

Kurt looked over Quinn's serene expression, then frowned unhappily at Rachel. "This is just so wrong."

She shrugged, "I'm just embracing the new me."

"But yesterday…"

"Don't go there," she warned him again.

Mr. Schuester breezed in to the room (late as usual) and Kurt was obligated to face forward again. The teacher started to talk about finalizing a list of songs for Regionals, throwing out his top contenders. Kurt attempted to concentrate on the debates going on around him, but he really just wanted to know what had happened between Quinn and Rachel last night that had resulted in the complete lack of interest they were showing in one another.

"…and Quinn suggested that we have auditions this time for the featured vocalists," Mr. Schuester was saying.

"Wait… _Quinn_  suggested?" Rachel asked incredulously.

"Yes, Rachel. She approached me this morning with the idea."

"And such an  _original_  idea," she mocked.

"Please, like you were really going to bring it up. You're such a self-centered little diva," Quinn fired back.

"Okay, both of you stop. We're not doing this again," Mr. Schue admonished them. "It doesn't matter whose idea it was, it's a good one. Now Quinn has already expressed an interest in auditioning for  _As Long As You're Mine."_

Rachel gasped, "Mr. Schuester, I must object. My voice is far better suited to that song."

"Oh my God. Will you just shut up?" Quinn hissed, finally turning in her seat to glare back at Rachel with cold eyes. "No one cares what you think."

"Quinn, Rachel has every right to audition, too," he pointed out.

"And I will be doing so," she boldly announced. "If you feel confident enough to test your thin, bubblegum pop style against my years of extensive vocal training, Quinn, then I welcome the challenge."

"I'm weirdly turned on right now," Santana muttered looking at Rachel with almost reluctant admiration.

Rachel smiled at her, "I'm flattered, Santana, and may I say, you should consider auditioning as well. I would welcome some real competition."

"Why don't you two just sing it together? You can take the male lead, Berry," Quinn sneered back at them.

"That actually isn't a bad idea," Rachel said mildly.

"Okay, that's it," Mr. Schue growled, waving his hands in the air. "I'm posting a sign-up sheet at lunch today. Auditions start tomorrow." He shook his head in frustration. "Now…get to class, guys."

"C'mon, Sam," Quinn urged, grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the choir room without a second glance back in Rachel's direction.

Rachel stood and smoothed out her skirt. "If you'll excuse me, I really need to discuss an equation with Mr. Landry prior to first period. He never seems to have time to answer my questions during class," she said with a frown before disappearing out the door.

"I just don't get girls," Finn muttered to himself as watched his ex-girlfriend leave.

Santana snorted, "No kidding," and Finn shot her a glare as he grabbed his bag and left.

Kurt dropped his head into his hands. "What just happened?"

Mercedes wrapped her arm around him again, giving him a comforting squeeze. "Maybe it's just not meant to be, Kurt. I mean, Quinn can be pretty harsh, and Rachel is…well," she shrugged, "still Rachel."

"Okay, no,  _that_  Berry," Santana argued with raised brows, " _so_  not the annoying little troll version. I could totally be down with her if she was like that all the time."

"And she's a really good kisser, too," Brittany added thoughtlessly.

Santana's head whipped over to the girl with a scowl, "Excuse me, what?"

"You kissed Rachel?" Artie squeaked, and everyone turned to look at him in shock, not having realized he was still in the room until that moment.

"Oh, no," Kurt muttered under his breath, feeling a wave of guilt crash over him. He'd been so obsessed with his scheming that he hadn't stopped to consider Artie's feelings for a moment. Just like he hadn't considered Finn or Sam.

"Um…yeah, yesterday" Brittany admitted, "but it didn't really count."

Artie looked at her incredulously. "You  _kissed_  someone who isn't me! How does that not count?" he wanted to know.

"Because it was totally just making out, not like, actual feelings or anything," Brittany reasoned. "Kissing only counts as cheating if it's with Santana."

"You're kissing her, too?"

"No…not since we got together," she vowed, taking his hand. "I swear."

Artie stared at her for a moment, then looked up at Santana, who for her part was leaning forward in her chair and watching Brittany intently. He sighed, and looked back at his girlfriend. "But you have feelings for her," he stated softly.

Brittany glanced briefly over at Santana, then nodded, "I'm sorry… I really, really care about you, Artie."

He pulled his hand away, and started wheeling toward the door. "I…I need to be alone."

"Wait, are you breaking up with me?" she asked him sadly.

He paused, quietly told her "I don't know," and rolled out of the room.

"Brit…" Santana began, but Brittany shot her a hard glare.

"I'm still mad at you."

Tina leaned forward and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, Brittany. Artie is a really understanding guy. I'm sure he'll forgive you."

" _So_  didn't see that coming," Mercedes admitted.

"Man, Berry's scoring with all the hot chicks," Puck said in awe. "Maybe I should make her my wingman."

"No!" they all shouted.

Kurt pressed a hand to his forehead and shook his head. "This is such a mess." All he'd wanted to do was orchestrate a perfectly romantic union between two horribly repressed lesbians so that they'd both stop driving everyone around them crazy with their unresolved sexual tension! Was that too much to ask?

"I knew agreeing to this was a bad idea," Tina told them.

"See, this is why  _I_ didn't get involved. You guys should never have messed with Rachel and Quinn."

Kurt lifted his head at the sound of the new voice. "Mike?"

Mercedes leaned closer and asked, "When did we invite him into the club?"

Mike looked at them all in disappointment and explained, "Tina and I don't keep secrets from one another."

Puck snorted, raised his fist and made a flicking motion. "You are so freaking whipped, dude."

Kurt stood from his chair and turned to face them all. "Okay, you know what…we've come too far to let one little setback stop us."

"Oh, give it up, Rainbow. It's way more than one setback."

"Yeah, I hate to agree with Santana," Mercedes began, casting a quick disdainful look back in the girl's direction, "like really, really hate it, but I think maybe we're just making things worse now."

"I'm not having fun anymore," Brittany complained with a pout.

Tina gave her shoulder another squeeze. "And Quinn doesn't seem like she's planning to break up with Sam anytime soon."

"As smokin' hot as they'd be together, they're both seriously scary when they're pissed," Puck reminded them with a shudder.

"So you're all just throwing in the towel?" Kurt huffed, hands on his hips. "Just like that?"

"Sorry, Kurt," Mercedes shrugged. "I mean, we tried, right?"

"But they were so close."

Everyone shot apologetic looks in his direction as they started for their next class. Mike and Tina left holding hands, and Puck swaggered out behind Mercedes. Santana cut off Brittany's retreat at the door, quietly asking, "Can we talk? Please?" When Brittany finally nodded, she tentatively hooked their pinkies together and gently guided her out of the choir room.

Kurt sank back down into has abandoned chair. Well, at the very least, maybe Brittany and Santana would finally work out whatever it was they actually were to one another—even if they so weren't the couple he'd been aiming for when he'd gotten the bright idea to play cupid. He just didn't understand what could have happened to undo all of the progress his girls had made. Yesterday Rachel had been on the verge of declaring her love for Quinn, and Quinn had seemed more than receptive, but today they were back to bitching at one another. And Kurt was damn well going to find out which one of them had screwed it up!

•••

Once she was clear of the choir room, Quinn dragged Sam by his hand down the hall and around the corner before she stopped, collapsed back against the wall and gave in to her mad urge to giggle. Sam was looking at her like she'd lost her mind, and it only made her laugh harder. Clutching at her side, she struggled to regain her composure.

"Okay, I think maybe you enjoyed that a little too much," Sam observed.

"I can't help it," she finally managed, "did you see Santana's face? And poor Kurt looked like he wanted to cry. It was priceless."

"Remind me to never get on your bad side."

She squeezed his hand and smiled up at him. "Thanks for playing along, Sam."

"No problem," he told her with a boyish grin just as Rachel turned the corner and caught sight of the friendly scene. She flashed them an annoyed expression, let out a little huff, and marched past them to the end of the hall before ducking into the girls' bathroom. "Uh…I thought you guys were just pretending to fight."

Quinn swallowed heavily, still staring after her unofficial girlfriend, "Yeah, me too," she muttered distractedly, already moving away from Sam.

She replayed their  _argument_  n her mind as she followed Rachel—pre-approved minor cuddling with Sam, (very reluctantly) sanctioned flirting with Santana, staged animosity over a solo, acceptable insults to Rachel's divatude and Quinn's vocal range—nothing that they hadn't agreed to beforehand. Although, Quinn hadn't exactly enjoyed how comfortable Rachel had seemed coming on to Santana, or that she still actually believed that kissing Brittany had ever been a good idea. The whole thing just solidified Quinn's commitment to making damn sure that  _she_  was the only girl on whom Rachel would be testing out her newly embraced sexuality from now on.

Entering the bathroom, she saw Rachel touching up her lip-gloss in the mirror, and a cursory glance around revealed that they were alone except for a couple of lingering freshmen. She put a hand on her hip and tossed a cold glare at the other girls, who quickly finished up and scurried out. Rachel barely looked her way, just recapped her gloss and started fussing with her hair.

Quinn paced along the row of stalls, giving each door a gentle push to make sure they really were alone before she came to stand behind Rachel, meeting her eyes in the mirror with concern. "Okay, what am I missing? Because I thought we were on the same page about the…"

Her words were abruptly halted when Rachel executed a graceful pirouette and pressed those heavenly lips over hers. Quinn's arms automatically looped around her narrow waist and pulled the girl closer as she eagerly responded to the kiss, moaning in protest when Rachel pulled her mouth away far too soon.

"Not that I'm complaining," she breathed against a soft cheek, "but didn't we decide on no PDAs at school?"

"This isn't exactly public," Rachel pointed out, but she still gently extricated herself from Quinn's arms, "and I couldn't resist the temptation."

"Yeah, I'm pretty irresistible," she said with a saucy grin. "So, did our little band of merry mischief makers drill you for information after I left?"

Rachel giggled, "No, I didn't stay to give anyone the opportunity, but I'm certain Kurt will spend the majority of second period questioning me."

"How long to you want to keep up the act?" Quinn asked, feeling a just a little bit guilty about playing with their friends. Well, maybe just about Kurt. He was a decent enough guy, and he'd been a better friend to Rachel lately than anyone else had. Then again, he should also have known better than to try and force someone to deal with their sexuality before they were ready.

"Not long," Rachel said thoughtfully, a teasing little smile curving her lips beautifully when she confessed, "While I do find our verbal sparring matches strangely arousing, I don't relish the idea of deceiving our fellow glee clubbers indefinitely."

"You seemed pretty okay about messing with Santana," she muttered.

"Were you jealous?" Rachel asked eagerly, not even attempting to appear contrite.

"Yes."

"You did a commendable job of hiding it," Rachel informed her, reaching out to trace a finger lightly across Quinn's forearm and leaving a trail of gooseflesh in her wake.

Quinn sighed and gave in to her need to touch Rachel again, unusually careless to the possibility of getting caught as she rested her hands on Rachel's waist and pulled her closer. Not reacting to Rachel and Santana had been pure torture. All she'd wanted to do was turn around and slap that fascinated look off of Santana's face and growl  _mine_ , but she'd managed to behave _._ "Only because I know even  _you're_  not crazy enough to actually go there with her."

Rachel frowned, even as she curled her palms over Quinn's shoulders. "I think that might have been a backhanded compliment, however I should remind you that I am apparently crazy enough to go there with you."

"No, you're just crazy  _about_  me," she emphasized with a quick peck to Rachel's lips.

"True enough," she admitted softly, returning the chaste kiss.

Quinn reluctantly let go of Rachel's waist and put a respectable distance between them. No doubt the fact that they were both already late for first period was the only reason they'd been lucky enough not to have been discovered already. "So, you…me…the choir room…lunch?"

"Was there supposed to be a question hidden in there?" Rachel prissily wondered out loud.

Quinn snorted, then shook her head and adopted a perfectly serious expression as she formally asked, "Rachel Berry, will you please have lunch with me today?"

Instead of the eager agreement she'd been expecting, she got a contemplative frown and another question. "Won't our mutual absences be deemed suspicious?"

She shrugged. "I'll tell Sam to make himself scarce to divert attention. But do you really think you can make it through Kurt's cross examination without spilling everything?"

Rachel folded her arms beneath her lovely breasts and glared up at Quinn. "I don't know what you mean. I am a highly skilled actress," she insisted.

Except when she wasn't, but Quinn knew better than to bring up some of her more lackluster performances, so she tactfully pointed out, "But you're a horrible liar, baby."

Rachel's annoyance instantly disappeared, and her arms fell limply to her sides. "Baby?" she whispered, then cleared her throat and swallowed thickly. "I see we've moved on to endearments already."

Quinn bit her lip nervously. The term had just sort of slipped out without her realizing it, and now she was worried that it was too soon. "Do you…do you not like it?"

Rachel shook her head, and Quinn felt her heart drop—at least until Rachel eyes started to glisten and she smiled adoringly up at her. "I love it."

_I love_ _ **you**_ _,_ Quinn thought but didn't say. It really was too soon for that. "So, do I get an answer to my question?"

"Which one? I think I've lost track."

"Lunch?" Quinn reminded her indulgently.

Rachel bounced up onto her toes, hands on Quinn's shoulders and kissed her thoroughly before spinning away with a giggle. "Consider it a date," she called back as she skipped out the door, leaving the suddenly hot and bothered Quinn behind.

Oh, yeah, Berry was so getting paid back for that at lunch today, and Quinn was going to enjoy every minute.

•••

Rachel was late. She'd gone close to two weeks without receiving a slushie shower and, of course, today would be the day her streak ended. One of the cretins from the hockey team whose name escaped her—because really, they were all fairly interchangeable as far as personality and intelligence—had been bored, and she'd found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. She was trying not to take it as a sign from above that her fledgling romance with Quinn was destined for failure. Perhaps karma had simply decided to bite her in the ass for misrepresenting the results of their rendezvous last night.

As expected, Kurt had begged and whined and cajoled in an attempt to discover what had happened, but Rachel effectively silenced him with a pointed reminder that what he was asking was very personal and private and not to be eavesdropped upon by twenty-three of their shamelessly capricious classmates. He'd reluctantly agreed that perhaps it was not the best time or place for revealing such details, and he dropped the subject until the end of class, when he demanded that she explain at lunch what was going on. She failed to tell him that she had prior arrangements for obvious reasons, and apparently, a lime slushie to the face just before she planned to meet Quinn had been her punishment. She really hated lime.

She'd rushed to her locker, grabbed her emergency kit and fired off a quick text to Quinn explaining that she was unavoidably delayed. She did not say why. Rachel didn't know whether she was more worried that the cheerleader would overreact, in either anger or misplaced guilt, or fail to react at all. The latter would disappoint her terribly, so it was highly probable that she had already placed unreasonable expectations on the girl in regards to their relationship—much as she had done previously with…

"Finn!"

The boy's sudden appearance in front of her as she headed for the choir room startled Rachel so badly that she literally jumped and pressed a hand over her racing heart.

"Hey, Rachel. Can we…um…talk?"

She took a deep breath as she gazed up into Finn's hopeful eyes. "Now's really not the best time, Finn," she told him apologetically, glancing past him down the hall to the door that Quinn was waiting behind. Finn had been refusing to speak with her since their break-up, despite her desire to salvage their friendship, and he chose to approach her at the most inconvenient time.

He absently rubbed at the back of his neck and his cheeks tinted pink. Urging her over toward the wall, he leaned over her and said, "Please. I just feel really bad about everything and I…I know I acted like a jerk. Puck told me what you guys were really talking about that day and I…I should have trusted you. I'm really sorry, Rach."

She sighed, biting her tongue to keep from snippily agreeing that,  _yes_ , he should have trusted her. "I accept your apology, Finn, and I hope that we can put this unfortunate affair behind us and continue on as friends,"  _but not today, please._

"I was kind of hoping we could be more than that. I really miss you," he said with a small smile as he reached for her hand and entwined their fingers.

_Oh, no._

Rachel shook her head and gently extricated her hand. "No, Finn. I think we've expended all of our chances at a romantic relationship. We're just not meant to be."

He frowned down at her. "But I still love you, and I know you still love me."

She wrapped her arms around herself and worried her lip. She hadn't been prepared for this yet. She truly didn't want to hurt Finn, but she knew she had to make him understand that there really was no chance of them ever getting back together. Even if she wasn't in lov—in a brand new, very committed, unexpectedly intimate relationship with Quinn, she would never want to fall back into the same old pattern with Finn. They really did work so much better as friends.

"I care about you, Finn. I always will, but you can't deny that we haven't really been happy together since last summer. We just don't work as a couple."

"That's not true," he argued, "we were fine until I got jealous of you and Puck, and now I know I shouldn't have been. Puck's totally not into you that way."

Rachel frowned at his phrasing. As if Noah's lack of interest made all the difference. Really? She wondered how Finn would react when he found out just who it was that he'd really had a reason to be jealous over.

"We were not fine, Finn," she informed him patiently. "We were barely holding on to something that was over long before Christmas because we couldn't let go of the idea of us." She reached out and took his hand again, giving it a friendly squeeze. "You were the first person who ever really wanted to be my friend, and I think maybe I was one of the first to really believe that you can be so much more than just another jock with big dreams and limited opportunities. It felt good to have that connection, and we both wanted it to lead somewhere, but everything that makes our friendship so wonderful just ends up hurting us whenever we try to be more. You end up disappointing me and I end up embarrassing you."

"You don't embarrass me," he offered half-heartedly.

She smiled up at him. "I do, but it's okay. Friends can be embarrassed by one another, and disappointed in one another, and walk away for a little while and then forgive one another and move on. That's what I'm doing, Finn. I'm moving on. I still believe in you, but I need to let go of the unreasonable expectations that I placed on you as my romantic lead. You deserve someone who can love you unconditionally," she told him honestly, even as her thoughts drifted to Quinn, "and so do I."

Finn looked down at their joined hands, then back up into Rachel's eyes. "You're really over me, aren't you?" he asked quietly.

Rachel held his gaze steadily. "I am." Placing her free hand on his chest, she gently told him, "I'm so sorry, Finn."

"I'm not over you," he admitted, and she dropped her hand and averted her eyes.

"Finn…"

"Don't worry," he cut her off, "I'm not gonna try to convince you to take me back, or sing to you in glee, or get all possessive if you start dating some other guy." Rachel swallowed heavily, knowing that there wouldn't be any other  _guy_. "I'm just gonna try and be your friend again, and hopefully someday you'll realize that we really do belong together."

"Finn, please, I don't want you to hold on to false hope."

"You can't say it's false," he insisted, claiming both her hands and holding on. "You don't know what might happen."

It was true, but she had a fairly good idea of what she wanted to happen, and, sadly, Finn was no longer part of her big picture. "You're right," she admitted, "but neither do you. You may come to realize that everything I've said is true and find that you have, in fact, moved on."

He smiled wryly, "Maybe. But then we'll still be friends, right?"

Rachel smiled, too. "Always."

Finn nodded and his grip on her hands started to go lax for a second, but then he moved closer and bent down to press a chaste kiss to her cheek. Rachel closed her eyes and felt the moisture gather behind her lids. No matter what else came to pass, Finn Hudson would always be her first love, and this moment felt more like closure on that chapter of her life than anything else ever had.

"See you later, Rach," he whispered, and finally let her go.

"Goodbye, Finn," she whispered to herself as she watched him walk away. Finally feeling settled about Finn, she smiled and turned around, determined to at least spend what was left of lunch with Quinn, only to falter after the first step. Standing there not ten feet from her was the girl in question, arms crossed protectively over her stomach and eyes wide and wounded.

Rachel instantly realized exactly how that scene with Finn might have looked, and she moved forward hoping to explain. "Quinn," she began, but Quinn shook her head, spun on her heel and sprinted away. "Damn it," she growled, and took off after Quinn.


	23. Smooth Talker

**Smooth Talker**

Quinn had managed to make it from her fourth period class, to her locker, to the choir room in record time, arriving at 11:57 to wait for Rachel. By 12:02, she'd been already impatiently pacing the floor. At 12:03, she'd gotten the text saying that Rachel was delayed, but would be there shortly. When 12:15 rolled around, Quinn was just pissed. She'd tried texting Rachel back twice, but she'd gotten no reply—the girl had an annoying habit of leaving her cell phone in her locker like the perfect, rule-abiding student that she was.

Not wanting her lunch to be a total wash, she'd torn open the door and stalked out of the room to look for her wayward girlfriend, but she hadn't made it far. The sight of Rachel with Finn stopped her short. The boy was standing so close to her and holding her hands with such a love-struck look on his stupid, dopey face, and Rachel's head was tipped back and she wasn't pulling away. When he leaned down to kiss her, Quinn thought she might actually be sick. Rachel was supposed to be meeting  _her_ , she was supposed to be over Finn, she was not supposed to stand Quinn up so she could make out with her ex-boyfriend in the hallway.

When Rachel finally turned around, Quinn had seen the soft smile on the girl's lips and felt like her heart was shattering into a million tiny pieces. Part of her had wanted to close the distance between them and slap the guilty look off of Rachel's face—anger and direct confrontation had always been her go-to reactions where Rachel was concerned, after all—but the bigger part of her had just wanted to run away and escape the pain she was feeling, so that's exactly what she had done.

The auditorium wasn't exactly the best place to hide, but it was close by and at least she wouldn't have to worry about breaking down into a sobbing mess in the middle of the hallway for everyone to gawk at. She jogged down the aisle past the section divider and collapsed against the wall behind the orchestra seats. Biting back a sob, she slid down to the floor and pressed her forehead to her knees. How stupid could she be? She'd  _known_  that Finn was still in love with Rachel. She'd known he wouldn't just disappear, and even that Rachel still cared about him. She'd just let herself believe that he wasn't any real competition. Quinn had convinced herself that she could give Rachel so much more than Finn ever could. But she couldn't. Not really.

Finn could walk with Rachel down the hall and hold her hand. Finn could kiss her in front of the whole school. Finn could take her out to a restaurant and pay for her dinner and call it a date. He could cuddle with her in a movie theater and spend two hours making out in the dark instead of watching the film. He could take her to prom and spend the night dancing with her and be one half of the perfect picture that Rachel had always dreamed about. All Quinn had to offer her were stolen moments and hiding in empty rooms and keeping secrets. She'd been delusional to think that Rachel could ever be happy with that.

Wallowing in her self-pity, Quinn sensed a presence next to her, heard the rustle of fabric shifting and caught the scent of honeysuckle and sandalwood that Rachel favored. She sighed and squeezed her eyes shut. She'd known that Rachel wasn't capable of letting her have just a few minutes alone.

"It wasn't what it looked like," Rachel swore.

"Really?" she muttered into her knees, choking back a humorless laugh before she lifted her face and glared at the girl sitting next to her. "Because it looked like Finn was holding you and kissing you, and you just let him instead of pushing him off and telling him to get lost."

"He only kissed my cheek," Rachel clarified.

"Yeah, that makes it so much better, thank you," Quinn sarcastically spat.

Rachel dropped her eyes and nodded. "I understand that you're upset with me, but I'm asking you to let me explain."

Quinn closed her eyes. She didn't want to hear any explanations, but mostly, she just didn't want to hear Rachel tell her that she'd made a mistake—that she wasn't going to be happy being Quinn's dirty little secret and would rather give her pathetic, dysfunctional relationship with Finn another try.

"Do you want him back?" she asked quietly.

"No, I don't. I only want you," Rachel insisted, reaching out and cupping a warm palm over Quinn's cheek to gently turn her face and claim her full attention. "What you saw was nothing more than two friends resolving to put their unfortunate amorous past behind them."

Quinn gazed at Rachel and saw nothing but honesty in her expression.

"You do know that he still loves you, right?" she asked unhappily, still very well aware that Finn Hudson could offer Rachel things that she couldn't—not yet, and maybe not ever.

"Yes, but  _he_  knows that we're not getting back together, Quinn. That being said," Rachel said with a small smile, "Finn does have a tendency to want things that he can't have. I'm hopeful that he will eventually grow out of it, but until then," she breathed, stroking a thumb over Quinn's lower lip, "you just need to remember that you're the one who does have me."

Quinn caught her breath at the weighted promises shining back at her from Rachel's expressive, brown eyes. All kinds of naughty images assaulted her mind, illustrating the many ways that she could  _have_  Rachel—ways that Finn never had, and never would if Quinn had any say in the matter. She opened her mouth to nip at the pad of Rachel's thumb with her teeth, then raised her own hand to gently lift that thumb away and entwine their fingers together. "You stood me up to talk to your ex," she pouted, not quite ready to let that go. "I'm still kind of mad at you."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "It wasn't intentional, believe me. He caught me in the hallway and insisted on talking when I was already running later than I intended."

Quinn's brows furrowed in confusion. "Wait, didn't you text me because of Finn?"

Rachel's cheeks flushed pink and she shook head. "No, I…uh…had to…change," she confessed softly, and for the first time Quinn realized that Rachel was wearing a different blouse than the one she had on this morning. Her grip on the girl's hand tightened.

"Who?" she demanded.

"It really doesn't matter, Quinn."

"The hell it doesn't," Quinn seethed. "I'm not going to let people just go around tossing slushies at my girlfriend!"

Rachel sucked in a breath and gazed at the blonde in stunned adoration. "Girlfriend?" she whispered.

Quinn swallowed thickly. She'd been more or less thinking of Rachel that way since last night when she'd confessed her feelings to the girl, but she realized that they hadn't exactly made it official. "I know we agreed to take things slowly, but, yeah…girlfriend. I mean, what else would you call this?" she asked, lifting their joined hands and pressing a soft kiss to Rachel's knuckles.

Rachel bit her lip adorably to try and contain the joyful grin that was threatening to take over her face. "Well, while Santana might suggest something along the lines of lesbifriends," and Quinn grimaced, causing the girl to giggle, "I much prefer girlfriend," she finished happily, leaning over to capture Quinn's mouth in a sweet kiss.

Quinn let her eyes flutter shut and she reached up to cup Rachel's cheek, stroking her thumb over the silky skin to sate her craving for contact as she drank in the flavor of her girlfriend's lips. It had only been a few hours since her last taste, but it felt like forever. These stolen moments were addictive, and she worried that her need to touch Rachel would eventually bleed into her public behavior.

"I wish we didn't have to hide," Quinn murmured when they finally parted.

"I'd rather have you in secret than not at all, Quinn," she confessed, running her fingers gently across Quinn's high cheekbone, then slowly down along her jaw and throat. "These quiet moments with you are worth so much more than any public validation of our relationship." A self-depreciating grin crossed her face, and she rolled her eyes a little. "And I'm certain that you must realize the magnitude of that confession, considering that it generally goes against my character to not sing out my adoration for you in front of the entire school."

Quinn's heart swelled at the admission, and she fell just a little more in love with Rachel. The more time they spent together, free of their images and mutual arrogance, the more she realized just how sweet and considerate and  _wonderful_  Rachel could be. Yeah, she was still intense and driven and a little obsessive, but Quinn actually found those traits kind of endearing. She was so completely besotted with this girl that it wasn't even funny.

"I think I'd kind of love that—you singing to me," she admitted. She already loved listening to Rachel whenever she performed any song, she could only imagine what it would do to her to know that the girl was singing specifically to  _her_. There was a reason  _Keep Holding On_ was one of the most played songs on her iPod, despite the painful memories that always came whenever she heard it.

Rachel's eyes lit up. "Really? Because I actually already have a few songs in mind."

"Of course, you do," Quinn laughed. "You wouldn't be Rachel if you didn't."

She blushed and ducked her head. "I'll try not to embarrass you too much."

Quinn shook her head, cupping Rachel's jaw and tipping her face back up so that she could look deeply into her eyes. "Don't do that, Rach. Don't ever think you have to change for me. Not your ambition or your enthusiasm or your obsession with all things Broadway or even the way you dress."

She refused to be like Finn Hudson. Maybe she couldn't kiss her girlfriend in the middle of the hallway or take her to prom, but she could love her and support her and build her up and make damn certain that Rachel always knew that she was wanted and treasured for exactly the person that she was.

"I think you actually mean that," she murmured in wonder.

"I do," Quinn assured her. "I wouldn't exactly complain if you chose to dial back on the animal sweaters," she joked, reaching out to trace a finger over Rachel's exposed thigh, "but I am kind of fond of the skirts."

Rachel smiled and cupped a hand around the back of her neck, pulling her closer and stopping just a breath away to whisper, "you're such a smooth talker, Fabray," against her lips, and then that mouth was covering hers again, coaxing her to surrender. Their kiss quickly turned less than innocent, evolving into a sensual battle for dominance that Quinn was determined to win. Rachel made the most incredible little sound—half moan and half whimper—and Quinn felt the vibration of it straight down to her core. Yeah, the whole taking it slow thing? Probably wasn't gonna work out too well for them.

• • •

When Quinn bounced into sixth period, she had to remind herself that she was supposed to be on the outs with Rachel. It was hard, especially when they'd spent the last few minutes of their lunch break making out in the auditorium. They really hadn't settled much in the way of how they were going to handle their public relationship, but they'd sure had fun exploring their private one. Maybe they couldn't hold hands or kiss in front of anyone, but they could talk and sit together and be seen as friends. She might not have the power to protect Rachel from the jocks, but she could damn well get the cheerios to back off with the insults and slushies.

Rachel risked a brief glance back over her shoulder, face carefully neutral—if you didn't notice the way her sparkling eyes betrayed her. Quinn lifted her eyebrow and bit down on her lip to keep from grinning. As much as she really wanted to be sitting next to Rachel right now, playing this secret game was kind of a turn-on.

"Well, hi, there, Quinnie," Santana greeted with a huge smile as she slid into the open chair next to her. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

Quinn stared at the girl in concern. Santana actually looked happy, which usually meant trouble for someone. "Okay, what are you up to?"

Santana's smile got impossibly wider. "Not  _up_  to anything, Q.  _Down_ , actually."

"Huh?"

Santana laughed at her bewildered expression, then shook her head and shrugged. "I just had a really good morning."

"At whose expense?"

"You wound me. Can't I just be happy?"

Quinn raised a brow. "Again, I ask, at whose expense?"

Santana smirked. "Well, if you want to get all technical about it, I'm guessing Wheels isn't gonna be too thrilled."

"What did you do to Artie?" Quinn hissed in concern. After her revelation yesterday, Quinn didn't doubt for a minute that Santana would go to any length to cause trouble in Brittany's relationship with the boy.

Santana rolled her eyes. " _I_  didn't do anything to him.  _He_  was the idiot who decided to breakup with B this morning over stupid shit. I just…seized the opportunity."

Quinn ignored the second part of that for a moment and focused on the first. "He broke up with Brittany?"

"Yeah," Santana said with a grin. "Remind me to thank Berry for that."

 _Oh, crap._ Quinn had a feeling she knew what  _that_  was about. She glanced up at Rachel and started to worry her bottom lip with her teeth. If she knew Rachel, and she really did, then she was probably going to feel really guilty once she found out. Even if she really should have known better than to kiss Brittany—not that she was still holding a little grudge about that at all.

"Aren't you gonna ask me why I should thank the smurf?" Santana prompted.

"Her name is  _Rachel_ ," Quinn growled impatiently. She was really getting tired of the insults. Every careless barb that fell out of Santana's mouth felt like a knife into Quinn's heart, because  _she'd_  been the one to think up more than half of them, and it was painful to be reminded of that fact.

"You know," Santana said casually, leaning back in her chair and glancing down at her nails in boredom, "me and Brit have a few places in this school we like to go to for… _privacy_ ," she dropped her voice suggestively, "the second floor bathroom over in the science section, the janitor's closet by the boys' locker room," and Quinn scrunched up her nose in disgust at the images, but Santana just kept talking, "the choir room when Berry's not hanging there, which is like, never lately, and since that was otherwise occupied during lunch today," Santana informed her pointedly, raising her eyes to look directly at Quinn, whose stomach was now churning unpleasantly, "we ended up backstage behind the stairs to the catwalk. At least, until we realized we had company. Then we totally snuck over behind the curtain to get a better view."

"Shit," Quinn mumbled, dropping her head into her hands. She sucked at sneaking around. She hadn't even made it a whole day without getting caught—and by Santana of all people.

"You are such a liar, Fabray. You've so totally been playing us."

Her head snapped up and she glared at Santana, careful to keep her voice low. "Excuse me,  _no_ …you've all been messing with us for weeks. We just decided to get a little payback."

"You're obviously getting a little something more than that."

"Would you be quiet?" Quinn demanded, eyes darting around the room fearfully.

The girl rolled her eyes again and crossed her arms. "Look, Q. We both know that I could totally use what I know to crush you under my heel and make your life a living hell for the next year and a half until you graduate," she pointed out evenly, and Quinn held her breath fearfully until Santana confessed, "but, I'm not going to do that. You kind of have the same dirt on me anyway, and while I could probably swing it to my advantage since everybody in this school would kill to sleep with me, it's so not worth the hassle. Besides," she shrugged, "Brittany would be pissed at me again, so whatever. Your secret's safe—or not, since you obviously do not know how to stay on the down-low. But no one'll hear it from me. Just don't say I never did anything for you."

Quinn studied Santana. Maybe she was being naïve, but she actually believed her. "Thank you, Santana," she said gratefully.

"Don't mention it. Really," Santana emphasized, "never mention it again."

Quinn let herself relax, and even managed a small smile, until she fully realized what the other girl had just revealed to her. "How much did you see anyway?" she asked nervously after a minute. Not that she and Rachel had really done anything too embarrassing, but still, the idea of Brittany and Santana watching them was disturbing.

Santana smirked, leaning close so she wouldn't be overheard. "Enough to think that I should have taken Streisand out for a test drive when I had the chance."

"You  _never_  had a chance," she forcefully clarified, daring Santana to press the issue.

"Well, look at you…being all protective and nauseating."

"Shut up, Santana, or I'll tell Brittany that you're being a bitch."

"Please, she likes me bitchy. It's part of my charm."

"It's really not," Quinn argued, but she was smiling again. It felt good to actually have someone  _know_  about Rachel and her—like it made it more real. Strange that two weeks ago she'd been terrified of it getting too real, and now it was all she wanted. She knew that she couldn't have everything right now, but she could have enough to be happy. She had Rachel and she had a few good friends that she could trust—and the rest would come with time.

• • •

Quinn was a tiny bit late for cheerios' practice since she'd stolen a few minutes with Rachel in the girls' bathroom after seventh period. She would have loved to have her girlfriend stay and sit in the bleachers to watch, but that just wasn't an option. Consequently, she ended up alone in the locker room, hastily tossing her bag in her locker as the other girls on the squad made their way to the gym. She was just turning to join them when she was sideswiped by a pair of strong arms attached to a deceptively muscular body, and she would have fallen over if she wasn't being completely lifted up into Brittany's enthusiastic hug.

"Quinn! I'm so happy you finally unpressed your lemon!"

"Uh, th-thanks, Brit," she gasped out, reaching up grip the girl's arms in an attempt to pry them loose. "Um, you can let me go now."

She did, stepping back with a huge grin. Quinn straightened her ponytail and took in Brittany's pink cheeks and sparkling eyes before her gaze drifted to Santana who was leaning against the lockers with her typical smug smile.

"Do I even want to know why you two are still hanging out in here?"

"Probably not," Santana warned her.

"We were sharing sweet lady kisses," Brittany confided, "like you and Rachel, only me and San are so much hotter."

Santana shook her head in exasperation at Brittany's habit of revealing too much information, but she couldn't erase the tiny grin from her lips. Quinn could identify. She'd been grinning all afternoon.

"Yeah, you're right," she conceded with a nod in Santana's direction. "I didn't want to know that." And as happy as she was for her friends, she really didn't want to know what else those two had gotten up to in here.

"Aw, don't be grumpy, Quinn," Brittany continued unfazed. "You're really lucky. Trust me. I've kissed a lot of people, and Rachel's, like, way up there."

Santana snorted in laughter, and Quinn's fists clenched reflexively as she scowled at Brittany. "Please don't ever mention kissing my girlfriend again."

Brittany frowned and looked to Santana. "Why does everyone keep getting so worked up over kissing? It's not like we had sex or anything."

"'Cause they're not cool like we are, B," Santana soothed, reaching out a hand to rub over Brittany's shoulder. "And you need to chill on the jealousy, Q. As much fun as it normally is to push your buttons, green really isn't a good color on you."

"Well, forgive me if I'm not into sharing. We can't all be as  _open_  as you are, Santana," she sneered, crossing her arms.

"Please don't fight," Brittany pleaded, wrapping one arm around Quinn's shoulder and the other around Santana's waist to pull them into an odd sort of hug. "You're happy with Rachel and I'm happy with Santana and we should all be happy together." Her eyes widened, and she grinned. "Ooh…we can totally double date."

"No freaking way," Santana growled, and Quinn silently agreed. Even if she  _could_  take Rachel out on a real date in this stupid, judgmental town, there's no way in hell they'd ever double with Brittany and Santana. The experience might just scar them for life.

"But San," she whined, letting go of Quinn and turning to slip her arms around Santana's waist and press their foreheads together. "It would make me really, really happy. And then I can make  _you_  really, really happy."

Santana blushed. "Um…yeah…double dates. Sounds…awesome."

Quinn shook her head in amazement as she watched Santana Lopez crumble into a little pile of mush. "Wow, you are so Brittany's bitch."

"Shut up, Fabray," Santana muttered, grabbing Brittany's hand and tugging her off in the direction of the showers.

"Wait…where are you going? We have practice," Quinn reminded them.

"Tell Sylvester we're sick," Santana called back as they disappeared out of view. Not even a minute later, Brittany's giggles turned into moans, and Quinn shuddered, hightailing it out of the locker room and into the gym.

There were some things she just didn't ever need to see or hear.


	24. Basking In The Glory

**Basking In the Glory**

When the doorbell to the Berry residence sounded at 5:00 pm, Rachel skipped down the steps with a grin, thinking that perhaps Quinn had found some way to escape from the clutches of Sue Sylvester earlier than expected, but after peeking through the peephole, her posture sagged and she sighed as she opened the door.

"Rachel Berry, you have some explaining to do!" Kurt testily informed her as he pushed past her and into the house.

"Hello, Kurt, it's lovely to see you, too." She closed door and followed him into the living room where he had already dropped onto the sofa and was fixing his windblown hair. He primly crossed his legs and his arms, and pinned her with a look obviously intended to overwhelm her with guilt.

It worked.

She was already feeling badly about deceiving him—even if he had slightly overstepped the bonds of friendship with his meddling. The whole situation was bothering her immensely, especially after having found out from Tina that (thanks in no small part to Rachel) Artie had broken up with Brittany. Quinn had told her she shouldn't blame herself since Brittany was pretty much already over it. Rachel hadn't quite believed her until she'd confided the reason  _why_ —which was really more information than Rachel had wanted.

"First of all, I do not appreciate the fact that you've been avoiding me since this morning."

"I haven't been," she lied as she sank down next to him and affected her best innocent expression. "I was unavoidably detained at lunch." It was technically the truth, thanks to Finn, but she hadn't exactly been planning to meet Kurt anyway.

"I'm not interested in your excuses, Rachel. Never mind the fact that I've just spent the entire day worrying about the sad state of your love life and the possible repercussions if you've somehow managed to piss off Quinn Fabray once again—thank you very much for the premature wrinkles, by the way—I simply want to know what went so horribly wrong to have you so unusually tight-lipped."

"Is there a particular reason that you're so invested in my personal life, Kurt?" she prodded.

"You're evading," he accused her with a huff. His cheeks colored slightly, but he didn't drop his gaze.

"Has it ever occurred to you that Quinn might not be willing to risk her reputation or her home to engage in some high school dalliance with another girl—let alone the biggest loser at McKinley?" she queried softly, because that was still one of Rachel's biggest fears, that Quinn could wake up tomorrow and realize that their relationship wasn't worth the trouble it could bring her—that  _Rachel_ wasn't worth it.

Quinn had made no secret of the fact that she wasn't ready to be out at school, and Rachel hadn't merely been attempting to make the girl feel better when she'd confessed to the same. She shuddered to think how many more slushies and dumpster dives and derogatory names she'd have to endure once she added lesbian or bisexual to her already long list of differences.

They hadn't even discussed the possibility of coming out to their parents, but while Rachel didn't really have any worries on that front at least, she knew that Quinn's family life was very different. Her girlfriend had been kicked out of her house last year when she'd most needed her parents' love and support. Whenever Rachel thought about it now, she just wanted to cry, especially when she remembered how easily she'd once disassociated herself from the harsh reality of Quinn's situation.

Kurt reached over and covered her hand, giving it a sympathetic squeeze. "Oh, sweetie, did she tell you that?"

Rachel could see the concern in his expression, and another wave of guilt crashed over her. She knew it was time to confess. She opened her mouth to do just that, and then launch into the speech that she had prepared outlining all the inappropriate actions that a friend should never take in regards to another friend's romantic entanglements, when her doorbell sounded again. She snapped her mouth shut and sighed, casting him an apologetic look as she stood. "I'll just be a minute."

"You  _are not_  going to make me wait again!"

"I can't just ignore the door, Kurt," she chastised him, giving him a sharp look when the doorbell chimed again in short impatient bursts.

Rachel paced back into the foyer, grumbling under her breath at the insistent ringing before she wrenched the door open without bothering to check who it was. She instantly found herself with an armful of cheerleader and any protest she might have made was silenced by soft, pink lips. Quinn unerringly backed Rachel into the nearest wall and pressed the entire length of that lean, toned body against her as she deepened the kiss. A firm thigh slipped between her legs and Rachel whimpered against Quinn's mouth, pushing back desperately in an attempt to get closer. The whole experience was so incredibly erotic that Rachel couldn't help but moan in appreciation as every rational thought in her head vanished into oblivion.

"Oh. My. God!"

Quinn jerked away in surprise at the unwelcome interruption, leaving Rachel slumped against the wall and gazing up at her through heavy-lidded eyes.

"Kurt?"

"You…you're…" he stuttered, mouth gaping and one hand pressed over his heart while the other pointed at Quinn.

Quinn narrowed her eyes at Rachel. "Why didn't you tell me he was here?" she demanded shakily.

Still dazed, Rachel ghosted her fingers over her lips and murmured, "You didn't exactly give me a chance, Quinn."

"You sneaky, little fakers!" Kurt screeched, finally snapping out of his shock. He put both hands on his hips and glared at them both. "To think that I actually felt sorry for you—poor unwanted Rachel and poor repressed Quinn. Hah!"

Quinn's nervousness disappeared in a heartbeat, and she matched his stance. Rachel couldn't help but admire her head bitch pose. It was sexy as hell, and needless to say, it trumped Kurt's pale imitation without question.

"Listen up, Hummel. I don't know what weird fantasy world you're living in, but let me give you a reality check. You don't get to decide how I feel or who I date. It's  _my_  life, and only  _I_  get to decide what's best for me. And as for Rachel," she continued heatedly, not allowing Kurt the chance to respond, "I don't care how good a friend you've been lately. Her personal life isn't some little pet project you get to dabble in whenever you feel the urge. Understand?"

Kurt squared his shoulders and nodded. "Perfectly."

"Good."

Rachel clapped her hands and stepped between the two with a too-bright smile, hoping to dispel the tension. "Okay, now that we've settled that. Can I offer either of you anything—water, juice? Oh…I baked cookies last night."

"You baked?" Quinn asked, her eyes turning soft as her defenses slipped just a little.

Rachel blushed. She'd had excessive energy to burn off last night after Quinn left (her completely breathless and aroused and unable to concentrate on any of her homework.) Quinn had stayed until close to six, reluctantly saying goodnight because she'd been too nervous to meet Rachel's daddy after spending two hours cuddling and making out with his daughter on the family sofa. Quinn's anxiety had been oddly adorable, so Rachel had decided to let her off the hook for the time being.

"I did. I am quite an accomplished baker, if I do say so myself, regardless of the fact that the Berry family cooking skills are generally abysmal."

Quinn smiled. "Hence the reason that you're fully committed to take out," and Rachel beamed back at her, tickled that she would remember something so trivial.

"Hel-lo-oh? Still in the room here," Kurt whined, "and I feel that I at least deserve an official declaration of status after all the trouble you've both put me through."

One blonde brow arched in challenge. "Excuse me? I think you might want to rephrase that."

Rachel placed a hand on her girlfriend's arm—and oh, she really loved that word. "Quinn, be nice. Kurt's actually been very helpful," and Rachel shot him a look of exasperation when he grinned proudly, "in a completely inappropriate, underhanded,  _manipulative_  way," and his smile dimmed considerably.

"But you're together," he prompted hopefully. "Blissfully happy and basking in the glory of new love?"

Rachel jerked her gaze to Quinn at the use of the L-word, worried that it might send her into a panic, but Quinn was blushing prettily, gazing down at her with a tender expression. "We're together," she admitted bashfully, lacing her fingers with Rachel's.

Kurt squealed, bouncing over and crushing them both in a joyful hug. "Yay! I'm so happy for you!"

"Kurt, honey, you're kind of squishing us," Rachel told him.

"Sorry." He let them go but the smile on his face was blinding. "You have to tell me  _everything_."

"No!" the girls denied together.

"No offense," Rachel was quick to add. "It's just kind of private, and we're still…figuring things out," she finished hesitantly with a glance to Quinn.

"And we're not telling anyone yet," Quinn insisted meaningfully. After all, Kurt was the biggest gossip in McKinley, next to Mercedes.

He scoffed, "Oh, please, like everyone hasn't been waiting for the two of you to just give in and jump one another for weeks now. Well, except for Finn and," he paused and frowned, "oh, poor Sam.'

Quinn winced, "Uh…yeah, Sam already knows."

"Oh." Kurt tapped a thoughtful finger to his chin. "Well, then, I guess it's just poor Finn."

"Don't expect me to shed any tears for him."

"Quinn, that's not very nice," Rachel chastised. She really didn't want to see Finn hurt. Despite his character flaws, he was, at heart, a really decent guy who deserved to be happy, and he likely was not going to take the news well that his two ex-girlfriends were finding happiness with one another.

"In case you haven't noticed, Rach, I'm not exactly a nice person." Quinn's mouth was quirked with a little half-smile that was part self-depreciation and part pleading for acceptance.

"But you are," she reassured the girl. "You're just a little prickly on occasion, but the inherent sweetness is well worth the trouble." A rosy glow colored Quinn's cheeks, and Rachel smiled happily.

"You're just so adorable," Kurt gushed with his hands clasped over his heart.

"Okay, you really need to get a life," Quinn quipped.

He huffed, "Please, I  _wish_  I had my own relationship to focus on. If either one of you can help me out with Blaine, I will personally coordinate both of your wardrobes from now until graduation."

Rachel frowned as she studied Kurt. "Why do I feel like that's actually more of an insult to the way that we currently dress than a potential expression of gratitude?"

"Take it how you will," he dismissed with a wave of his hand. "What I'm more interested in right now is how I can help you make the transition into lesbian power couple."

Quinn growled and took a step forward. "What part of  _we're not telling anyone yet_ did you fail to understand?"

Rachel tightened her grip on her girlfriend's hand and quickly positioned her body into a protective stance, ignoring the utter ridiculousness of the situation. "You're not really helping right now, Kurt."

"Look, I'm not suggesting that you walk into school tomorrow and make a big public declaration, but I don't think that you want to go back to pretending to hate one another, and let's be honest, you both suck at feigning indifference. A little strategic planning on how to increase contact while limiting speculation wouldn't hurt. I mean, if the queen of McKinley and…well, Rachel Berry, suddenly become BFFs overnight, it might seem a little suspicious."

Quinn relaxed a little, and sighed, conceding, "You actually have a point."

"Of course, I do," he bragged, "I've already heard some rumblings on the grapevine concerning your presence at our table the other day—of course, most of them think that you're setting up Rachel for some horrible prank intended to publicly humiliate her." Quinn frowned, but the boy smiled encouragingly, "Obviously, that isn't the case."

She turned to Rachel with a pensive frown. "You do know I wouldn't do that, right?"

Rachel squeezed her hand supportively. "I know. You're not that person anymore. And even if you were, I somehow doubt you'd carry a prank this far."

Quinn lifted their joined hands and ghosted a tender kiss over the back of Rachel's. "Thank you for trusting me," she whispered, hazel eyes sparkling with so much emotion that Rachel started to feel a little breathless.

"Okay, as much as I love you two together, I think I'm starting to get a cavity from the overdose of sweetness."

"Hey!"

He ignored Rachel's indignant protest. "Now, as for the plan," he began with a gleam in his eye. "I'm thinking that we stage a big, public breakup with Sam—and poor Quinn is so devastated that she can't bear to sit at the same table with him at lunch. So of course, she sits with her friend Mercedes and, by extension, you, Rachel, and then you add in a week or two of cordial greetings in passing between classes and gradually move on to a few casual conversations. Eventually, no one will even bat an eyelash if the two of you choose to walk down the hall together between classes smiling and giggling and generally being disgustingly cute on the level of Brittany and Santana…well, Brittany anyway," he finished with a thoughtful frown.

Rachel stared at him, not quite certain what to make of his proposal. Glancing at Quinn, she saw that she looked just as dubious. "I'm not certain the public breakup is really necessary."

"Yeah, and Sam's already been great about this whole thing. I'd really rather not use him anymore than I already have."

"Fine," Kurt huffed, crossing his arms. "We can forget advertising the dramatic collapse of your perfect, boring, too-blonde relationship, even though that would  _really_ sell the story. Two girls bonding over their brutal, failed love affairs."

"I would hardly call it brutal," Rachel complained, not wanting to use such a derisive adjective to describe the end of her relationship with Finn.

"And I wouldn't call it a  _love_  affair," Quinn added.

"You are both just killing my buzz," he pouted.

"We appreciate your support, Kurt," Rachel was quick to reassure him, "and we will certainly take your advice into consideration, but ultimately, well…" she paused to organize her words into a tactful presentation—for a change.

"It's none of your business," Quinn finished bluntly, apparently having no problem being direct. "Now, if you don't mind, Rachel and I have things to discuss and decisions to make." She took Kurt by the shoulders and gently turned him towards the door. "So thanks for stopping by, nice talking to you, drive safely." She opened the door and gave him a firm little push, and he stumbled over the threshold before turning to look at the girls.

"But…"

"Okay, time to leave now," Quinn insisted impatiently, scowl back on her beautiful face.

"Rachel?" Kurt pleaded for her to intervene. Quinn looked back at her, eyebrow quirked in challenge, and Rachel bit back a smile.

"You should probably just go home, Kurt. We'll see you tomorrow."

He gasped, "Well, I never…" but the door slammed closed in his face.

Quinn turned and grinned at Rachel. "Now where were we?" she asked as she slipped her arms around her girlfriend's waist.

"Quinn, that was very rude," Rachel chided, but even as she said it, she was lifting her hands to Quinn's hair to work it free of the confining ponytail. God, she adored Quinn's hair when it was left down in all those soft waves.

Quinn bent down and nuzzled her cheek. "Please, you know you loved it," she purred close to her ear before feathering kisses down along Rachel's jaw and throat.

She tipped her head back to allow Quinn greater access. "Mm…maybe," she moaned, hissing out a shaky breath when Quinn backed her up against the wall again and started to suckle on a particularly sensitive spot where her shoulder met her neck. "Oh…definitely…love that."

She felt those perfect pink lips curve against her skin before Quinn lifted her head and gazed down into brown eyes with a content smile. "Hi, there," she murmured playfully.

Rachel sighed as she let her fingers play in silky blonde locks, gently combing through the leftover tangles caused by the evil hair tie. "Hi, back at you."

"So, I guess we kind of suck at this whole sneaking around thing."

"Apparently," she replied with a giggle, running her hands down Quinn's arms and gently pulling them away from her waist so that she could lead her into the living room. Not that being forcefully accosted against the wall (twice) hadn't been exciting, but the sofa would be so much more comfortable. She sank down into the cushions and pulled Quinn down beside her. Quinn immediately rearranged their bodies into a more intimate position so that they could cuddle, and Rachel smiled, loving how tactile Quinn was turning out to be—completely the opposite of her cool and aloof persona. She honestly hadn't been expecting it, and she wasn't ever going to complain.

"When are your dads coming home?"

Rachel frowned a little when she heard the nervous tremor in Quinn's voice. "Why? Do you plan to run out again so you won't have to meet them?" she asked, wincing a bit at the mild accusation in her tone.

Quinn stiffened beside her. "It's not that I don't want to meet them, Rach. I just don't think they'll be too happy to have one of the girls who's tormented their daughter for years sitting in their living room."

Rachel pulled back to study her girlfriend's face. "You assume that I came home nightly in tears and with a list of names prepared to present to my fathers and discuss endlessly with my therapist."

"No, not nightly, anyway," Quinn qualified.

She nodded a little. "I won't lie and say that it never happened. My dads are aware that many of my school experiences thus far have been less than pleasant, but, other than the fact that you are one of the image-obsessed, exclusionary cheerleaders who have been known to toss nasty insults and ice cold beverages at me in the past, they won't have any reason to dislike you specifically."

Quinn squeezed her eyes shut and pain marred her features. "I am so sorry for everything I ever did or said, Rachel. None of it was ever really about you. I just…I hated myself so much and I was so unhappy, but I couldn't change anything…and I put it all on you because you were an easy target. You don't know how badly I wish I could take it all back."

She smiled sadly as she gently stroked Quinn's cheek. "You were obviously struggling with your own sexuality, and while that isn't really an excuse, it  _is_ something I can understand. So I forgive you, Quinn."

"I…really don't deserve you," Quinn murmured, "but I'm so happy you're mine."

Rachel lost her breath at the emotion in those hazel eyes. She could almost imagine it was love shining back at her, and she admitted that she really wanted it to be. She was falling in love with Quinn. At a loss for the words to express the emotions building inside her, she leaned in and brushed a soft kiss over pink lips and watched those amazing eyes flutter shut as she breathed in Quinn's contented sigh. "Stay for dinner," she whispered against the girl's parted mouth.  _Stay forever_ is what she really wanted to ask, but she didn't want to scare Quinn away. The prospect of meeting her dads was doing a fine job of that already.

"Are you sure your fathers won't mind?" she asked nervously.

"It will just be daddy tonight if that helps." Her dad was rarely home for family dinners during the week.

"He won't run me off with a baseball bat as soon as he sees the uniform?" Quinn joked.

"Please, both my dads are atrocious at sports. We don't even  _own_  a baseball bat. Daddy does have shotgun though," she added as an afterthought.

Quinn smiled and shook her head until she realized that Rachel wasn't smiling back. "You're kidding, right?"

"He's an excellent marksman, but don't worry, he only ever threatened to use it on Finn once, and he was totally joking," Rachel frowned. "I think."

Quinn's face blanched. "Oh, God."

"Don't worry, I'll protect you," she promised indulgently.

"I just don't want them to hate me, Rach," Quinn confessed. "I mean, how am I supposed to be with you if your dads don't approve?"

"You're worrying over nothing, Quinn."

"I haven't exactly had the best track record with parents."

Rachel frowned when she realized what Quinn meant. The horrible experience with her own parents aside—and Rachel was honestly a little leery of finally meeting Quinn's mother for fear that she'd say something she'd end up regretting—Quinn had bounced from house to house last year and being the bitchy, pregnant girlfriend hadn't exactly endeared her to Mrs. Hudson or Mrs. Puckerman. Noah's mother adored Rachel simply because she was a nice Jewish girl, and was fairly resentful of Quinn because she was exactly the opposite—the morally loose gentile who'd trapped her sweet boy with her wiles. Similarly, Rachel had heard a few little barbs from Finn's mother that, at the time, had made her happy to know the woman approved of Rachel where she hadn't approved of Quinn. But now, it all just made her sad that Quinn would have felt so unwelcome when she'd most needed kindness and support.

"My fathers won't judge you for past mistakes, Quinn. Not if I ask them to give you a fair chance. And anyway, nothing they could say will change the way I feel about you."

Quinn bit her lip thoughtfully, and Rachel had to stifle her moan as she watched the action. "Just to be clear, you're not planning to introduce me as the hot cheerleader you're totally crushing on?"

She laughed. "Of course not. For one thing, I would never spring my sexual epiphany on my fathers without properly preparing them for the conversation. And for another, I think I'm way past the crushing stage," she confessed softly.

Quinn's eyes went dark, and she traced her thumb across Rachel's lower lip. "Good to know," she murmured before her mouth descended.

Rachel was amazed by how quickly Quinn Fabray could reduce her to a quivering mess of hormonal teenager. She'd never felt this way with anyone else—so electrified by every kiss and so incredibly aroused by even the lightest touch. Where she'd been content for Finn's hands to remain over her clothes, she was embarrassingly eager to feel Quinn's fingers on her skin—and God, she really wanted to explore every inch of Quinn's creamy flesh free of hindrance by restrictive fabric—but enough of her brain was still functioning to recognize that two days was way too soon to be getting to second base. Instead, she settled for touching the skin that was already exposed—smooth cheeks and strong arms and silky legs. If those breathy little moans were any indication, Quinn didn't have any objections.

Long minutes passed where kisses grew increasingly heated, until they both seemed to realize how easy it would be to go too far too fast, and they managed to slow things down again, reluctantly letting their lips part. Rachel gazed up at Quinn, her hands lightly stroking over Quinn's back because, for the life of her, she couldn't seem to stop touching her. "As much as I enjoy kissing you—and I really do—we actually should formulate a plan of attack for tomorrow."

Quinn smiled down at her. "You always have to have a plan, don't you?"

"I find it comforting, yes," she admitted. "Although, I've recently discovered the benefits to letting things happen naturally."

Quinn frowned a little. "You know…I didn't used to think there was anything natural about this. I thought…I thought there was something wrong with me because I felt this way about you," she confessed in a small voice. "And I prayed for God to take this sin away from me."

"Oh, Quinn." Rachel knew that Quinn's faith had always been an important part of her life, and she was well aware that Russell Fabray had fallen into that group of conservative Christians that liked to quote Bible verses as proof that good people like her dads were nothing more than sinners who would be damned to hell for their heathen lifestyle. Frankly, she was still kind of amazed that Quinn had even accepted her sexuality at all, let alone that she was in Rachel's arms right now. She hugged Quinn a little tighter. "I don't even know how to respond to that," she whispered, afraid that anything she might say would only offend Quinn or upset her more. They had obvious theological differences to begin with without even touching on how their religions dealt with the issue of homosexuality.

"I don't expect you to. I just need you to know—it's something I'm still dealing with, in my own way and at my own pace. And as much as being with you feels  _right_ , I'm probably still going to freak out from time to time, and maybe say or do stupid things, but I really don't want to screw this up with you, Rach. So if I regress and start acting like a bitch to you again, just…don't give up on me, okay?"

Rachel gently tucked Quinn's hair back behind her ears as she smiled up at her. "Well, luckily for you, I tend to be annoyingly persistent when it comes to getting something that I want. And in case you haven't noticed," her voice dipped to a husky whisper, "I want  _you_ , Quinn Fabray."

Her eyes fell closed and she rasped, "God, baby, when you say things like that…you make it really hard to remember we're supposed to be taking things slow."

"Slow is a relative term," Rachel reasoned, happy to lighten the mood once again. "We  _have_  known one another for years, after all. One could argue that we've already waited long enough."

"Don't tempt me."

"But it's fun," Rachel teased.

"Rachel Berry, you are a very naughty girl under that squeaky clean image."

"I think you bring it out in me, Quinn," she confessed. "I've never felt this way about anyone before."

Quinn stared down at her, her breath coming in rapid little pants. "I don't care what Kurt says. I'm not waiting weeks to be seen with you at school. I know we can't be  _together,_  but we can damn well be friendly, and if people have a problem with it, then I don't really give a crap. I'm Quinn fucking Fabray, and I can be friends with whoever the hell I want to be friends with."

Rachel caught her breath at the almost feral look in Quinn's eyes. She always had reacted strongly to Quinn when she got into one of her forceful moods, but hearing those curse words uttered in that soft, breathy voice… "Wow. Is it wrong that I'm really turned on right now?"

A slow, sexy grin pulled up the corners of Quinn's mouth. "Baby, if this is wrong, I don't wanna be right."

She giggled at the cheesy line, but happily welcomed Quinn's kiss. Quinn's hand slid over a firm thigh and kneaded the flesh, fingertips drifting dangerously high. Rachel moaned, suddenly feeling a lot more sympathetic towards Finn's need to chant  _mailman_ , only she couldn't for the life of her come up with any images to douse the growing flames of her arousal. She weakly nudged Quinn's shoulder, hoping she would get the message, and was grateful when Quinn finally pulled back and moved her hand to a safer location.

"We should…ah…practice," Rachel gasped out.

Quinn's brows furrowed adorably. "Practice?"

"For the duet audition tomorrow," she clarified as she gently disentangled herself from Quinn and sat up straight on the couch, nervously fixing her hair.

"Rachel, I'm not seriously going to have a diva-off with you. We both know you're the better singer," Quinn pointed out with a smile.

"Well, of course I am, but we're still doing it. I took the liberty of making certain that both our names were on the sign-up sheet that Mr. Schuester posted."

Quinn gaped at her. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I want to sing that song with you, Quinn," she confessed shyly. "And this is the perfect opportunity to do so without making any needless declarations. We can simply call it a vocal competition and no one will be the wiser."

"Except Santana, and Brittany, and Sam, and Kurt, and probably Mercedes, too," Quinn pointed out.

"Yes, exactly," Rachel agreed, not fazed at all by Quinn's slightly sarcastic tone. "I'll tell Mr. Schuester that we've agreed to sing it once as the duet it is intended to be in order to save time, and I'll even take the male part, as you so helpfully suggested this morning."

Quinn shook her head. "You're unbelievable."

She studied the Quinn's face with a frown when she recognized the tone of her voice as the same one Quinn used when she had threatened to punch Rachel. "Are you mad at me?"

"No," she sighed. "I just wasn't planning to actually have to go through with auditioning."

"But you'll do it?" Rachel asked hopefully.

She gave a short, reluctant nod. "I'm taking the male lead, though. It just fits better."

"You're about as girly as they come Quinn," Rachel observed with a fond smile.

"I meant they lyrics, smart ass."

Rachel stood from the couch and held out her hand with a flourish, happy beyond belief when Quinn trustingly slid a warm palm against hers. "Come on then, we have a lot of work to do.


	25. Grand Gestures

**Grand Gestures**

Quinn's dreaded meeting of one of the misters Berry hadn't been as awful as she'd feared. Granted, it hadn't exactly been wonderful. Rachel had called her daddy and warned him that one of the evil cheerios would be joining them for dinner, and from Rachel's side of the conversation, Quinn knew that she'd been right to think that he wouldn't be crazy about the idea. But Leroy Berry had been civil when he'd appeared with takeout from Padrone's Pizza—one veggie for Rachel and meatzza for himself and Quinn to share (and boy, did she love whomever thought of putting bacon on pizza.)

Leroy was kind of intimidating at first glance—a tall, muscular, black man that Quinn never in a million years would have pegged as homosexual if she'd met him on the street. He'd given her a nerve-racking once over, taking in the uniform with a frown as she'd attempted to stutter through a polite greeting. The name Fabray obviously raised a warning flag, but the man didn't comment, and Rachel had been quick to start reciting all of Quinn's better qualities in an attempt to distract him. The man obviously adored his little girl, because her enthusiasm over her new  _friend_  had been enough to soften him up. Still, Quinn wasn't surprised when he'd unsubtly grilled her over dinner, and she'd answered every question that he'd asked as honestly as she could, at least without giving away the fact that she was in love with his daughter. By the time they'd finished eating, he seemed willing to believe that Quinn genuinely cared about Rachel, and that meant that Quinn wouldn't be banned from the Berry residence, so that was good. She still had to meet Hiram, of course, but Rachel seemed to think that her dad was far easier to get past than her daddy. Quinn was kind of glad her girlfriend hadn't told her that  _before_  she'd met Leroy Berry.

Nothing changed drastically at McKinley on Friday, although maybe there were a few odd looks when Quinn appeared at Rachel's locker that morning and didn't slam the door shut to start barking out insults. She just stood there with a soft smile on her face as Rachel picked up the books that she'd need for her morning classes and rambled about the incompetence of her Chem-lab partner. They parted with a promise to see one another at lunch and a brief, imperceptible brushing of fingers across wrists.

Quinn was happy. It was weird that such a little thing as seeing Rachel smile at her in the hall between classes could give her such a rush. She realized now that she'd actually spent every waking minute of the last few years secretly terrified that someone would look at her and just know that she was different—that her eyes were lingering a little too long on other girls, or that she flinched a little every time her boyfriend touched her, or that she got just a little too excited whenever she had words with Rachel. The fear was still there, of course, but she no longer felt oppressed by it. She felt surprisingly fee.

So when lunchtime finally came around, and she could finally sit down beside Rachel, she didn't even care that half the cafeteria was openly staring at them and whispering behind their hands. Quinn just smiled serenely, lightly bumped her girlfriend's shoulder with her own, and said, "hey," biting back the urge to add  _baby_ to the greeting.

Rachel beamed back at her. "Hi."

"Oh, how cute," Kurt cooed from across the table.

"They only said  _hello_ ," Mercedes chided.

"But they do it so cutely. Just look at those happy, smiling faces."

Quinn shook her head at his antics, but honestly, she couldn't seem to stop smiling.

"Can I just say, I am so glad you two finally worked your junk out, because this one," Mercedes jerked her thumb in Kurt's direction, "has been driving us all crazy with his Operation Cupid."

"Operation Cupid? Really?" Quinn asked, and when Mercedes nodded, she laughed, "That is so lame.'

"That's what I told the boy, but he wasn't hearing it," Santana pointed out as she unceremoniously dropped down next to a pouting Kurt while Brittany slipped into the open seat across from her counterpart—the one that just happened to be beside Rachel.

"Hi, Q. Hi, Rach," she chirped with a happy grin.

Quinn narrowed her eyes at Brittany, unable to stave off the tickle of jealousy at the familiarity between the two. "Brittany," she greeted coolly.

"Careful, B," Santana warned with a smirk. "I don't think she likes you calling her girlfriend  _Rach_."

Brittany frowned, "But isn't that, like, her name?"

Rachel chuckled a little. "It's fine, Brittany." Under the table, her hand slid onto Quinn's thigh and her thumb started rubbing tiny circles over the skin. Quinn stifled a moan and forgot all about her jealousy.

Kurt turned and gave Santana a once-over. "Excuse me, but why exactly are you sitting here?"

"What? I thought you'd like to have the  _family_  around, Don Queerleon."

He crossed his arms. "Very funny, Santana."

Mercedes shook her head at the two, then said, "Um, Brittany, I thought you had the next lunch period."

"Nope. I actually have this one, but I wanted to have lunch with Artie while we were dating. Now I get to be with San again," she aimed an adoring smile Santana. "Except I guess I have to start going back to English class. I'm kind of worried about my grade, 'cause Mr. Kearns says I do better when I'm not there at all."

"Uh, okay."

"Don't worry, Britt. I'll tutor you," Santana promised with a genuine smile.

Quinn smiled at her friends' obvious affection for one another. Her hand found its way down to cover the one that was still teasing patterns on her leg, and she turned Rachel's palm over so that she could tangle their fingers together.

"So, wait," Kurt said, holding up a hand. "Are you two…?"

"We're dating," Brittany finished happily, "and totally having sex."

"Ay, dios," Santana muttered, closing her eyes as her cheeks took on ruddy hue.

Mercedes snickered, "Aw, that's so cute. Big, bad Santana is blushing."

Santana's eyes snapped open and she glared past Kurt. "Don't start with me, Wheezy. This bitch still has her teeth."

"And she's really good with them."

"Britt…"

"And her tongue," Brittany added conversationally.

Mercedes made a face and dropped her tater tot onto her plate uneaten. "Oh, my God. I surrender. Just please don't tell me any more details," she begged. "Like, ever."

Quinn could sympathize. She already knew more about Brittany and Santana's sex life than she'd ever wanted to. She turned to Rachel and rolled her eyes. "These are our friends?"

"I'm just happy to finally have some," Rachel admitted dryly.

Quinn squeezed Rachel's hand beneath the table. "I'm just happy you're happy."

"Sheesh. You think  _we're_  bad," Santana scoffed.

"I'd rather hear sappy than smutty," Mercedes pointed out.

Quinn scowled at her friend. "We are  _not_  sappy."

"You kind of are, but it's cute."

"Thank you, Brittany. That's exactly what I was saying before you arrived," Kurt announced, then arched an eyebrow at the couple. "And speaking of that…I thought you two were supposed to be going the subtle route."

Santana busted out in raucous, shoulder-shaking laughter, and Quinn glared at her. She reined herself in with a final snort. "Oh, wait, you were being serious."

Rachel stiffened next to Quinn and huffed, "As far as anyone at this school needs to know, Quinn and I have finally put our differences behind us and discovered that we actually share a few common interests, enough so that we are attempting a friendship.

"And if anyone has a problem with that, they can just suck it," Quinn added with a snarl.

Mercedes grinned. "You go, girlfriend."

"So freaking cute," Santana drawled with an eye roll.

"Ignore her," Kurt instructed. "What are your plans for your first weekend as an official couple?"

Quinn blanched, looking nervously at Rachel who raised an inquisitive eyebrow as she met her eyes. They hadn't really made any plans. It wasn't like they could go out to dinner and a movie. Well, actually they could, they just couldn't  _act_  like it was a date.

_Crap. Was I supposed to officially ask her out? Oh, God, I was, wasn't I? I suck at this. She probably thinks I'm a terrible girlfriend._

"Uh…I…we could…" she trailed off, biting her lip.

Rachel smiled and shook her head, squeezing Quinn's hand reassuringly. "We'll probably just hang out at my house and watch movies and talk."

"Well, that's hardly romantic," Kurt pouted.

Damn it, Quinn knew it wasn't romantic. He didn't have to rub it in.

"I happen to disagree," Rachel said. "I find it quite romantic to simply spend time getting to know one another better. Grand gestures, while appreciated, are not necessary to make me happy. I'm very much looking forward to," she stopped talking suddenly, fingers tightening around Quinn's. "Ah…Santana, I regret to inform you that is not Brittany's leg."

Across the table, Santana sat up straight. "Sorry. My bad."

Quinn glared at her. "Oh, my God. Do you ever stop?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "I've got needs."

"You  _need_  to stop being a sex fiend," Mercedes cut in. "You're worse than Puck."

Brittany shook her head. "Actually, she's so much better than he is."

"That's it. I'm outta here," Mercedes announced as she stood. "It's been fun, but I draw the line at hearing about Santana's bedroom skills."

"Hey, your loss," Santana told her smugly as she walked away.

"She's totally jealous of you," Brittany decided.

"Everyone is."

"I really need to find more gay friends of the male gender," Kurt commented sadly.

Santana elbowed the boy in the side. "Hey, stop complaining, Cupid. You totally did this to yourself."

Quinn smiled at their playful bickering as she leaned a little closer to Rachel, quietly asking, "Are you really okay with just hanging out and watching movies this weekend?"

"I am  _so_  okay with it," she promised huskily, and suddenly, Quinn couldn't wait to start their weekend. Too bad they still had half a day to get through.

 

•••

By the time glee rolled around, Quinn had mostly forgotten that not everyone had clued into the fact that she and Rachel were now on  _friendly_  terms. She figured having lunch with her would have done the trick, but apart from the whispered speculation that she was plotting something, no one bothered to question her.

She supposed she should have realized that they might get a few odd looks from some of their teammates after she'd had to kick Tina out of her seat in American Lit. The girl had looked questioningly at Rachel when Quinn appeared and ordered her to move it, and Rachel had smiled and told her it was okay. Not twenty seconds later, Quinn had heard Tina's squeak of surprise when Santana had basically told her she'd be stuck sitting with her for the rest of the year. Really, she probably should have been a little nicer about the whole thing, but damn it, she'd wanted to sit beside Rachel and watch her fidget with nervous energy and maybe see if she could succeed in distracting her from their lesson. She totally had.

So when Quinn and Rachel walked into the choir room together, smiling and talking like they'd been the best of friends for years, Artie and Finn had stopped their brooding session to gape at the two, Puck leaned forward in his seat with his mouth open and eyes glazed, and poor Mike stumbled backwards over a chair.

Quinn resisted the urge to smugly drop an arm over Rachel's shoulder and glare at Finn, because that would just be  _wrong_. Anyway, she wasn't in the mood for the headache that would surely come when he finally figured out what was going on. If Kurt was right, Finn was the only one in the room who really didn't have a clue. She glanced up at Puck, saw the unholy gleam in his eye (and the little patch of drool at the corner of his mouth) and pretty much knew he'd been onto them, too. Actually, she was kind of relieved that he didn't seem to be hurt by it.

_Huh, Rachel was right. We really don't have to hide in glee. Well, once we take care of the Finn problem._

They sat beside one another, completely careless of what anyone thought or the fact the Finn was still staring at them. When Mr. Schuester came in with the sign-up sheet in his hand, Quinn felt her stomach bottom out a little. She really had her doubts about singing with Rachel in front of everyone, but her girlfriend had seemed so excited about it that she hadn't been able to say  _no_. She really needed to work on that, because as much as she loved Rachel, the girl was a serious taskmaster when it came to rehearsing songs. They'd had their first, second and third arguments last night over Rachel's obsessive-compulsive need for vocal perfection, Quinn's impatience, and the feasibility of anyone actually winning Regionals with that particular song anyway. Obviously, Quinn had lost all three arguments.

_Damn Rachel Berry and her irresistible pout. She really doesn't play fair._

"Okay, guys. Let's get going with some of these auditions. Ah, Rachel, since you seem to have signed up for every song on the list, I'll ask who else wants to start things off?"

"Oh, I think Quinn should totally go first since it was her idea," Santana offered helpfully.

"Thank you, Santana," she muttered.

"Don't mention it."

Rachel bounced from her seat with a smile and announced, "As you all may have noticed, Quinn and I have decided to let bygones be bygones," there were a few snickers, but she ignored them like a pro, "so, in the spirit of good sportsmanship, we're going to audition together and defer to your judgment."

Quinn shook her head and sighed. Like everyone didn't know exactly what was going on—again, except for Finn. Oh, and Mr. Schue. She wondered if the boy would actually be slow enough to miss the proverbial big, neon sign that she and Rachel were about to light up.

_He did believe he could get me pregnant in a hot tub without actually having sex, so maybe this won't be the complete disaster that I think it's going to be…_

Then Rachel started to sing, and Quinn's mind went momentarily blank.

_"Kiss me too fiercely_  
_Hold me too tight._  
_I need help believing_  
_You're with me tonight._  
_My wildest dreamings_  
_Could not foresee,_  
_Lying beside you_  
_With you wanting me."_

Quinn told herself to stay impassive. They'd spent a full twenty minutes last night working on acting indifferent to one another as they sang—complete failure every time. She could already tell today would be more of the same, although Rachel seemed to be doing okay, keeping her eyes on her audience and singing to  _them_ instead of to Quinn. Yeah, she actually wasn't liking that very much. She wanted Rachel's eyes on her.

_"And just for this moment_  
_As long as you're mine._  
_I've lost all resistance_  
_And crossed some borderline._  
_And if it turns out_  
_It's over too fast,_  
_I'll make every last moment last_  
_As long as you're mine."_

And then it was Quinn's turn to sing, and she just couldn't help herself. Her eyes locked onto Rachel and refused to look away.

_"Maybe I'm brainless_  
_Maybe I'm wise,_  
_But you've got me seeing_  
_Through different eyes._  
_Somehow I've fallen_  
_Under your spell,_  
_And somehow I'm feeling_  
_It's up that I fell."_

Quinn could tell she'd nailed the verse, even before Rachel turned to gaze at her adoringly. As Rachel's voice blended seamlessly with her own, she didn't even care that they were basically coming out to the glee club right now.

_"Every moment_  
_As long as you're mine_  
_I'll wake up my body_  
_And make up for lost time."_

Rachel smiled softly at Quinn and stayed silent to let her take the next phrase alone.

" _Say there's no future  
For us as a pair."_

Rachel shook her head slightly, wordlessly telling Quinn that they certainly  _did_  have a future, before they finished the last verse together.

_"And though I may know_  
_I don't care._  
_Just for this moment_  
_As long as you're mine._  
_Come be how you want to_  
_And see how bright we shine._  
_Borrow the moonlight_  
_Until it is through,_  
_And know I'll be here holding you_  
_As long as you're mine."_

Quinn managed to hold onto that last note to match Rachel, and she was kind of impressed with herself, but mostly, she was just completely crazy about the girl beside her. There was a moment of stunned silence in the room before everyone started clapping and cheering for them. Rachel was grinning proudly, and she slipped an arm around Quinn's waist and gave her a brief congratulatory squeeze. The action was totally platonic—something any friend would do—except they were more than that, and Quinn's body reacted accordingly as she leaned into Rachel.

"Wow, awesome job girls," Mr. Schuester said as he applauded them, his dopey smile proof that he was still oblivious to the change in their personal dynamic. "I think picking the winner is going to be a tough choice. What do you guys think?" he asked everyone.

"I think they both won," Kurt said with a knowing smile.

Santana smirked down at them. "Yeah, you must have  _practiced_  for  _hours,_ " and Quinn scowled, narrowing her eyes at Santana in warning.

"Wait a minute," Finn muttered. His brow was furrowed and he was looking back and forth between the two girls suspiciously. Quinn shook her head and stepped away from Rachel, hoping to nip his sudden flicker of insight in the bud and also to regain a bit of her own equilibrium.

"I think we all know Rachel deserves the song," she conceded, and it was true. She did a damn good job holding her own, but her voice was nowhere near as good as the diva's.

"Quinn, Rachel, I am really impressed by your willingness to rise above your differences and work together. Especially after all the problems you've had in the past. See, that's what I've been talking about," he told the rest of the club as the girls reclaimed their seats. "Team work."

"Yeah, that's totally what it is," Santana snickered.

"Shut up," Quinn hissed. She glanced over in Finn's direction to see him glaring at her now. She could almost see the rusty cogs start to turn inside his head.

Unfortunately, although completely unsurprisingly, Rachel really had signed up to audition for every female lead, so when Santana made a bid for Adele's  _Rolling in the Deep_ , Rachel countered with her own rendition. Normally, this wouldn't have been a problem for Quinn—she was happy to sit there and fan girl her little heart out, except that she could practically feel Finn's eyes on her the whole time and she was perfectly aware of how obvious her affections were whenever she listened to Rachel sing. So at the end of the song, when Rachel sat back down and smiled softly at her, Quinn just knew a whole mess of trouble was about to go down.

To his credit, Finn kept his mouth shut right up until the minute Mr. Schuester wished them a good a weekend and dismissed them from class. They were gathering up their bags and getting ready to leave when a large shadow fell over them.

"What's going on, Rach?"

Rachel stiffened beside her. "I'm not sure what you mean, Finn," she evaded.

He glanced around the choir room at the few people remaining who hadn't immediately run out—Brittany, Santana, and surprisingly, Puck. Finn was obviously trying to figure out if anyone else had noticed what he thought he was seeing. Quinn could just imagine what he found in the faces of their friends, all of whom already knew the truth. His eyes finally locked onto her again, and she met his angry gaze with her own, refusing to back down from the silent challenge.

"No way," he mumbled with a shake of his head, then he choked out a strangled laugh. "There's just no way."

Okay, that kind of pissed Quinn off. Her relationship with Rachel wasn't  _that_  unbelievable. She crossed her arms and glared back at Finn. "Why don't you spit out whatever poor, lonely thought you've got rattling around that empty head of yours, Hudson?" she challenged with a sneer.

"Quinn, don't be like that," Rachel admonished her, but she really didn't care. Quinn just wanted it out there now, so she could at least have this one place where she could be her damn self and not hide how she felt about Rachel. And she wanted Finn to be perfectly clear on the fact that he'd blown his last chance and he wasn't ever getting Rachel back.

"Rachel…"

Finn put a beefy hand on Rachel's shoulder as he moved even closer to her, and Quinn was instantly stepping between them and shoving his hand away. "Back off," she growled. In her peripheral vision, she took note of both Puck and Santana moving closer to back them up.

Finn ignored Quinn, still focused solely on his most recent ex-girlfriend. "Rachel, can we please just talk?"

"She doesn't want to talk to you."

"Quinn, it's okay," Rachel told her softly, placing a hand on her arm. "I think I owe him an explanation."

She felt her stomach clench, and she looked at Rachel incredulously. "You don't owe him anything, Rach. You're not  _his_  girlfriend anymore."

"But I am his friend," Rachel reminded her gently.

On some level, Quinn knew that losing her temper over this would make her a total shrew, but she just wanted Rachel to take  _her_  side and be sensitive to  _her_ feelings and not  _Finn's_ —to tell him that her life wasn't any of his business anymore, and he didn't deserve any explanations for her choices. Too bad Rachel didn't seem inclined to do any of those things. Narrowing her eyes, Quinn lifted Rachel's hand from her arm, kept it firmly linked with hers, and turned to face Finn.

"Fine. You want an explanation? Here it is—we're together. Rachel is my girlfriend, and you need to get over it."

"Girlfriend?" he asked Rachel, a slight tremor of laughter in his voice. "This is joke, right? You two are just trying to screw with me."

"Neither of them want to screw with you, Finncompetent," Santana sneered. "That was kind of the problem."

Quinn snickered, but Rachel shot Santana a look of annoyance before gently addressing the boy. "It's not a joke, Finn."

"But you're not even  _gay_ ," he whined.

"Come on, man," Puck said, slapping a hand down on Finn's shoulder. "Let's just go. You can hang at my house and we'll have some drinks and talk about all the hot girls you can tap now that you're single."

Finn shrugged his hand off. "Is  _this_  why you dumped me? To be with  _her_?" he asked Rachel heatedly, and Quinn bristled. She wasn't exactly digging his tone.

"She dumped you because you're a bad boyfriend," she hissed, getting up in his face.

Rachel gently pulled her back. "Quinn, please," she begged, then turned back to Finn. "You know why we broke up, Finn. We just didn't work as a couple. I assure you that nothing happened with Quinn until after you and I ended our romantic association. We've been over this already and you promised that you weren't going to make any scenes—that you'd be okay when I started to date someone else."

"It hasn't even been a week! And you weren't supposed to be with another girl."

"I don't see how that really makes a difference," she reasoned calmly.

"He's obviously threatened because he managed to turn both his exes off guys," Santana pointed out.

"Oh, three if you count yourself, San," Brittany added helpfully.

"No, Britt, I'm not off guys. Just off whiny, overgrown freaks of nature."

Rachel huffed and glared back at her. "You're not helping, Santana."

"Oh, did I say I was trying to help? I'm just enjoying the show."

Quinn couldn't take it anymore. "Okay, you know what—Santana, Brittany, I appreciate the support, but get out. Puck, I'm really glad you're not freaking out too. Thank you for that. You might want to wait for Finn. We'll only be a few minutes."

"You sure," Puck asked softly, obviously concerned to leave them alone with Finn.

She offered him a grateful smile. "Yeah, thanks."

Santana stepped up to Finn and poked him in the chest. "We're just gonna be right outside that door, Hudson," she warned him. "So if I hear the sounds of any chairs getting kicked over, I'm'a come in here and kick your ass."

Puck rolled his eyes, grabbed her by the arm and proceeded to drag her backwards out of the room. "Come on, babe. Let's give the ladies some privacy." Brittany grabbed Santana's free hand, effectively distracting her as she helped Puck guide her out.

Once they were alone, Quinn crossed her arms. "Sit down, Finn," she ordered.

"You don't get to tell me what to do anymore, Quinn," he snapped back.

"Seriously? You want to challenge me?" she asked hotly, glaring up at him. "Sit. Down. I don't want you towering over us while we have this conversation."

With a sigh, he sank down into the closest chair and crossed his arms. Quinn reached back and took Rachel's hand again, pulling her tightly into her side.

"Okay. I get that you're confused. And I get that you're hurt, but this," she waved a hand between herself and Rachel, "isn't about you, Finn. I really care about Rachel. I love...being with her and I just want to make her happy. And I'm sorry if you can't deal with that, but nothing you say or do is going to change it. I just really hope you can respect us both enough to let us be together and not cause problems for us."

"That was beautifully phrased," Rachel told her with a soft smile. "I have to concur wholeheartedly."

"Since when do you even like girls?" Finn wanted to know.

Rachel frowned down at him with furrowed brows. "Why does that even matter to you?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I…I guess it doesn't." He met Rachel's eyes again. "I just don't understand what's going on."

Quinn bit back a snort. "That's hardly new information."

Rachel tugged on her hand in silent warning. "Finn, I realize that my willingness to enter into a relationship with another girl may appear somewhat out of character from your point of view, and truthfully, I hadn't allowed myself to consider the possibility until very recently, but I assure you that my attraction to Quinn, both emotionally and physically, is very real."

His brows furrowed as he looked from Rachel to Quinn. Quinn knew what he was thinking—he wasn't really that hard to read. She sighed and shrugged a shoulder. "I like girls. Always have. I'm tired of fighting it."

Finn's jaw clenched. "So you were lying about that too?"

"Don't attack her, Finn," Rachel snapped. "Coming to terms with your sexuality is a difficult and frightening experience."

He ignored her words entirely. "Are you really sure about this, Rach? I mean, you really want to be with…with  _Quinn_. After everything she's done to you. Every lie she's told."

Every muscle in Quinn's body tensed. Rachel must have felt the change, because her thumb started rubbing soothing little circles over the back of Quinn's hand. "I've never been more certain of anything, Finn. I…" she hesitated, looking up at Quinn with bright eyes. "Quinn makes me happier than I've been in…well, maybe ever," she confessed, and Quinn felt her heart flutter madly as she gazed down at her girlfriend. Rachel reluctantly turned her eyes back to Finn. "I'm sorry if you have a problem with us being together, but I'm not sorry for the way I feel about her."

He nodded slowly and stood from his chair to look down at her sadly. "I think you're making a mistake, Rachel. She's gonna end up hurting you."

"I'm never going to hurt her," Quinn growled defensively—not on purpose and not if she could prevent it.

Rachel sighed, gripping Quinn's hand a little more firmly. "Finn, while I appreciate your apparent concern for my well-being, I'm going to kindly ask you to keep your opinions to yourself and allow me to live my life as I choose. And, in case you are still struggling with the concept, I choose Quinn."

Quinn grinned at Rachel's words and wrapped a possessive arm around her girl, lifting her eyebrow and smirking up at Finn. He glared back at her, then gave one last sorrowful look at Rachel. "If this is what you really want…"

"It is," Rachel assured him without hesitation.

"Then I won't get in the way. Just know I'm here for you if you need me."

"She won't," Quinn told him sharply.

He shook his head, shot Quinn a disgusted look and skulked out the door, probably to be corralled by Puck and ushered off to enjoy a drunken weekend. Quinn couldn't really bring herself to care what the boys would get up when she had a troubled Rachel sagging against her.

"Well, that was unpleasant."

Quinn turned and slipped her arms around Rachel's waist. "Yeah, it really was, but we made it through, baby."

Rachel reached up to curl a palm around the back of Quinn's neck and rub at the knots she found there. "I'm a little surprised that you're not more upset that Finn knows about us."

"I think I'm actually kind of relieved," she admitted as she gazed down into dark eyes. "I mean, he's not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he's smart enough not to make trouble for us." Quinn was fairly confident that Finn wouldn't out them to the school. For one thing, he knew Puck (and possibly Santana) would kick his ass. For another, there was the whole turning-his-girlfriends-gay reputation that he'd be wanting to avoid. And, as much as she hated it, Finn actually did still care about Rachel enough to want to protect her, even if that meant protecting Quinn by default. "At least now we won't have to be constantly worried about him finding out. With everyone else in glee knowing, it was only a matter of time anyway."

"One could extend that reasoning to the student body in general," Rachel gently reminded her.

"We'll worry about that if and when it happens."

"Hey, you two lesbians bumping uglies in here or what?" Santana's voice cut in on them as she poked her head through the door.

"San, be nice," Brittany chided from the hallway. "Ask them if they want to come to Breadstix with us."

Santana grimaced, pointedly shaking her head from side to side as she asked through clenched teeth, "Do you want to come to Breadstix with us?" Then, just for good measure, she mouthed,  _say no_.

Quinn giggled. "No, thanks. I think we just want to spend some time alone together."

"Oh, sexy times?" Brittany asked with a big grin, head poking over Santana's shoulder.

Quinn's eyes widened and she felt her face heat as she stared down at Rachel, who was blushing prettily. "Uh…n-no, Brit. It's…ah….way too soon for that."

Santana snickered. "Yeah, Britt. Remember who you're talking to here. Ms. Immaculate Conception and the Virgin Drama Queen."

"Stuff it, Lopez," she snarled.

"Love you, too, Q," she shot back with a smirk. Grabbing Brittany's hand, she called back, "have fun with your little gold star," as she let the door fall closed again.

Quinn shook her head and smiled down at Rachel, only to see her gazing at the door thoughtfully. "Huh, I suppose she's right," she finally mumbled as she met Quinn's eyes again.

"About what?"

A sly grin curled up those sinful lips as she looped her arms around Quinn's neck. "I really could be a gold star."

_Oh, my dear sweet and fluffy lord. Is she…is she suggesting…?_

Biting her lip, Quinn inhaled a shaky breath. "You really are kind of a tease, Rachel Berry."

A single dark brow arched up. "It's all about the teasing…"

Quinn tipped her head back and sighed, "I knew that would come back to haunt me someday."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Song:**   
>  _"As Long As You're Mine," from Wicked_


	26. Like A Date

**Like A Date**

_Well this is completely awkward._

It was Friday evening and Quinn was sitting on the sofa between her girlfriend and her girlfriend's daddy (who didn't know his daughter's pretty cheerleader friend was his daughter's pretty cheerleader  _girlfriend_ ) and watching the snooze-fest that is CNN while they waited for Hiram Berry to come home so that they could all sit down to dinner. This was  _so_  not how she pictured her first  _date_  with Rachel. Even worse, Rachel and her daddy were actually discussing the current events being broadcast, so Quinn had to pay attention instead of zoning out like she wanted in order to at least attempt to insert an intelligent comment every now and then. She glanced over at Leroy Berry again and saw the slight smirk on his face, and knew she was still being tested. If this is what the man put her through thinking she was just some girl his daughter decided to befriend, she dreaded to think what he'd do if he knew the truth. Quinn had a sudden pang of sympathy for Finn—a very tiny pang that passed really quickly.

The evening had started out pretty freaking awesome. They hadn't gone to Breadstix or any other restaurant for dinner because they really had just wanted to be alone for awhile. Quinn had hightailed it home right after school to strip out of her cheerios uniform and grab a quick shower before spending the next thirty minutes fussing with her hair and makeup, and trying to pick out the perfect outfit for their first…not-really-a-date. She'd finally settled on those skintight jeans and the green top she'd bought on their shopping trip, because she knew Rachel had liked her in that outfit. And, yeah, total score on the eye-sex the minute the door had opened, and this time, Quinn let herself enjoy it. She'd also returned the favor, blatantly checking out Rachel in her own jeans— _because I don't lounge around the house in skirts and dresses, Quinn, but I thought you'd appreciate a little more effort than my typical yoga pants or athletic shorts_. Quinn had really wanted to disagree. The only thing better than Rachel in a skirt was Rachel in shorts—because damn,  _those legs_. Still, she could certainly appreciate the way the jeans hugged Rachel's curves in all the right places.

They'd kissed, of course, but they'd managed to refrain from falling onto the couch and right into a heated make-out session. Instead, they'd snacked on some fruit and just talked for more than an hour. Favorite foods, favorite color, favorite movie, favorite song (of course) and generally anything that they didn't already know about one another had been covered. Quinn could tell that Rachel had been surprised by just how much she already did know about her, because she really did listen when Rachel talked.

And, yes, there had been some making out (okay, a  _lot_  of making out) and she'd let her hands wander under the hem of Rachel's sweater (that thankfully bore no animal designs) and spread her palms over the smooth, warm skin on Rachel's back. Rachel's hands had slipped under Quinn's shirt in reciprocation and grown even bolder by sneaking around to graze the sides of her bra-covered breasts, and Quinn hadn't stopped her. She'd actually been dying to do the same to Rachel, and she nearly had until the ringing of the telephone interrupted them and they'd jumped apart, both stuttering out apologies for moving too fast.

Rachel had answered the phone while Quinn rearranged her shirt and combed her fingers through her hair, willing herself to slow things down. That turned out not to be a problem after Rachel informed her that her daddy was bringing home Chinese food and asked her what she wanted for dinner. And now here they were, on the sofa watching CNN while the cartons of Chinese were waiting in the kitchen and filling the house with their unique aroma. So when the front door opened and a short, balding man breezed into the living room, Quinn released a sigh of relief, because the television immediately clicked off and Leroy Berry got up from the sofa to greet his husband with a kiss.

She watched the two men in curious fascination, absently chewing on her lip. She'd honestly never seen two guys kiss before—well, other than the time she'd watched  _Brokeback Mountain_  with Kurt and Mercedes while she'd been pregnant, but she'd ended up looking away from the screen in discomfort and then claiming exhaustion and excusing herself to bed. Her father's voice had still been whispering in her head despite having been disowned by him. Now that she'd finally opened up to her own sexuality, she found that she didn't feel quite as uncomfortable with theirs, but she also didn't really see any appeal in watching them. Although it was kind of sweet that they obviously still loved one another after so many years together. Quinn couldn't remember ever seeing her mother kiss her father when he came home from work.

She turned to look at Rachel and saw the girl observing her with a soft smile. God, she really wanted to kiss her, or hold her hand, but she didn't think that Rachel wanted to come out to her dads like that, especially when Leroy still seemed to have his doubts about Quinn. Rachel winked at her, then stood, and she automatically did the same.

"Hi, dad. How was your day?"

"Eh…same old thing," he shrugged, placing a quick kiss to his daughter's forehead and ruffling her bangs in the process—which had Rachel immediately frowning and hastily smoothing her hair back into place. "A little blood, a lot of sweat, and a couple of tears," he joked.

Quinn raised a brow at the man's glib response. "Dad answers the same way everyday," Rachel explained.

"Because you never want to hear any details, sweetheart," and Rachel made a face, causing Quinn to giggle softly. "And where are your manners, young lady?"

She rolled her eyes. "Dad, this is Quinn. She's staying for dinner."

Quinn smiled politely and extended her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you Dr. Berry."

"Oh, look,  _she_  has manners," he responded with a pointed look at his daughter as he took Quinn's hand and gave it a firm shake. "It's lovely to meet you too, Quinn. Call me, Hiram," he told her with a grin. "I get enough of Dr. Berry at work."

"You can still call me, Mr. Berry, though," Leroy added.

"Lee," the shorter man chided good-naturedly. "Don't mind him, he likes to think he's intimidating."

 _Probably because he is_ , Quinn thought.

"I'm sure Quinn doesn't have a problem with intimidation. She's a cheerio, after all," he quipped, and she felt her stomach churn as she shot a worried look at Rachel, but the girl was already glaring at her daddy. "She has to deal with Coach Sylvester everyday, and that woman is insane," he finished with a laugh, and then winked at Quinn. "I'm a teddy bear compared to her."

Quinn released the breath she'd been holding. "That wasn't nice, daddy," Rachel grumbled.

He held up his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry, baby girl, I know you like this one, but bringing a girl in a cheerleading uniform into this house is like waving a red flag in front of a bull. I have to at least kick up some dust." He gave Quinn a nod of respect, "I have to admit, Quinn, you've impressed me a little. Not even Kurt managed to sit through thirty minutes of CNN and actually pay attention."

"Well, I like to keep up on world events, Mr. Berry," she lied with her sweetest smile.

He chuckled. "Sure you do. And you can go ahead and call me Leroy. It just keeps things less confusing."

Quinn's smile turned sincere and she nodded. "I'd just like to thank you both for welcoming me into your home and giving me the chance to be Rachel's friend."

"Well, you are most welcome," Hiram effused. "Rachel, why don't you and Quinn set the table? I am starving and that food smells delicious."

"Okay, dad."

Quinn followed Rachel into the kitchen, while the men hovered in the living room and asked one another about their days. Hiram was shucking his already loosened tie when the door swung closed and provided her a few precious moments alone with Rachel.

"Oh, my God, your daddy hates me," she whispered harshly.

"He does  _not_  hate you, Quinn," Rachel insisted, as she opened a drawer and began grabbing the silverware. "He just has an unusual sense of humor, and he likes to see how people react in uncomfortable situations. I mean, he teaches  _sociology_. You should see some of the trust exercises that he makes his students do."

Quinn watched Rachel systematically line up the knives, forks and spoons on the counter in perfect symmetry. "Is he going to, like, have you fall backward and make me catch you or something?"

"Of course not," she said, "well, at least I don't think he will," she amended, opening the cupboard and reaching for the plates, which happened to be just about an inch too high. Rachel rocked onto her toes and stretched, causing her calf muscles to flex beneath the denim, and her sweater to ride up and reveal a tiny sliver of flesh along her toned side. Quinn bit down on her bottom lip to keep from touching that little patch of skin.

Rachel grabbed one plate, shifting it to place on the counter before stretching up for the second, and Quinn released a breathy moan. On the third stretch, Quinn couldn't take it anymore and stepped up behind Rachel, placing her left hand on Rachel's hip and reaching over her head to grab the last two plates together.

"Thanks," Rachel murmured, turning slightly into Quinn. Her eyes caught on Rachel's mouth and she leaned down, then remembered herself and backed away quickly, putting a safe distance between them and glancing nervously at the door.

"I can't believe you keep the plates up there," she muttered. "Your dad's hardly any taller than you are."

Rachel smiled. "But daddy likes to watch us both reach for them. Believe me, Dad and I have repeatedly moved them down a shelf, but they just go right back up there the next day. We've mostly given up now."

Quinn couldn't help laughing. "It  _was_  kind of fun to watch."

Rachel crossed her arms and pouted. "You're as bad as daddy."

"As bad as me at what?" Leroy asked as he entered the kitchen with Hiram trailing a step behind and wearing a fresh shirt.

"Disrespecting those of us who are vertically challenged."

Quinn snorted, then covered her mouth in embarrassment as Leroy looked at her. "Ah, let her get the plates down by herself, did you?"

She nodded, still holding back her laughter. "Y-yes, sir."

"Did she drag the chair over? Or crawl up on top of the counter?"

Quinn lost her battle with her laughter—the image of Rachel climbing up on the counter to reach the plates was just too hilarious. She'd probably have to wipe the surface down afterward for the sake of good hygiene.

"Daddy, please stop embarrassing me in front of Quinn," Rachel groaned.

Quinn took pity on her, and swallowed down her merriment. "It's all right, Rach," she soothed, "I could barely reach the first shelf at this time last year."

Rachel's eyes went soft with understanding, and she smiled at her girlfriend. Leroy gave her an odd sort of sympathetic look, but Hiram chuckled a little. "Oh, were you much shorter last year?" he asked, apparently oblivious.

Quinn sighed. She was kind of surprised that Rachel hadn't told both of her dads all about the knocked-up cheerleader. "No sir. I was seven months pregnant, and I couldn't get close enough to the counter to reach anything."

The poor man's eyes went comically wide. "Oh… _Oh!_ You're  _that_  Quinn."

Leroy shook his head. "You'll have to forgive my husband. He tends to be a little self-absorbed, and completely horrible at remembering names."

"I'm so sorry," Hiram said, pressing a hand to his mouth.

She felt Rachel's hand on her arm, rubbing her bicep supportively. She glanced over at Rachel and smiled gratefully, then addressed Hiram. "It's okay, Dr. Ber—Hiram. Rachel and I, we weren't really friends last year. There was no reason for my name to even come up."

"Oh, it came up a time or two," Leroy told her.

Rachel dropped her hand and shrugged a little sheepishly. "Shelby…and Beth."

Quinn's eyes fell closed. "Oh." Shelby was still a really sore subject for her, as she imagined it would be for these two men.

She heard Leroy mutter, "Yeah, let's not discuss that woman tonight," and she opened her eyes to see him frowning darkly. Obviously, she wasn't the only one who was unhappy with Shelby Corcoran's behavior in regards to Rachel.

"Quinn, I really do apologize," Hiram stressed. "I didn't mean to broach such a personal subject with you on our first meeting."

"I'm kind of the one that brought it up," she told him. "I mean, it happened. I have to deal with it."

"And Quinn has done a remarkable job getting her life back on track," Rachel said with pride.

She felt the blush burn across her cheeks. "Well, I'm trying, anyway."

"Okay, enough of the heavy. Let's eat," Leroy commanded, picking up the plates off the counter and shoving them into Rachel's hands, then messily piling the silverware on top with a clatter. "Make yourself useful, baby girl."

Rachel huffed, "Yes, daddy."

"I can help," Quinn said, reaching for the silverware, but Leroy caught her hand.

"No, you're the guest. You just sit and relax." When Rachel moved to the table and started lining up the place settings, Leroy bent down and whispered, "Watch this."

Quinn frowned up at him, wondering what he was talking about. He winked down at her again, and walked over to the table, pulling a chair out for her. Not sure what he wanted, but intent to get on his good side, she sat down. Leroy tucked her chair in, leaned forward and casually slid a fork askew from the place Rachel had just set. Rachel released an adorable little huff, and moved the fork right back into position. Then Leroy bumped a knife on the other setting as he circled the table, causing it to turn at an angle, and Rachel reached across to straighten it. Quinn suddenly realized that her girlfriend was just that anal, and her daddy loved to tease her about it. She giggled, and Leroy laughed, too.

Rachel shot them both a look, then jerked her hand away from the silverware, blushing furiously. "Daddy!" she squeaked with a stomp of her foot. "You're terrible."

"And you really need to loosen up, baby girl," he told her, then looked down at Quinn with kind eyes. "Maybe you can help her out with that, Quinn."

She grinned, feeling a little more relaxed about having dinner with Rachel's dads. "I intend to try, Leroy."

Rachel's blush spread all the way down her throat, and she ducked her head and turned away. She finished setting the table, visibly attempting to be less particular with the placement, but failing miserably. They finally all sat down to eat, and the conversation was considerably lighter. Quinn managed to hold her own and even ingratiate herself a little more to the misters Berry. She didn't have to try very hard to be polite and charming—the men were surprisingly easy to talk to—but she did have to make a conscious effort to keep from touching Rachel, or saying something to give her deeper feelings away.

She was relieved when, an hour later, Rachel told her fathers that she and Quinn were going to head upstairs to watch a movie, leaving them free to commandeer the home entertainment system in the den. Rachel had practically dragged her up the stairs and pushed her into her bedroom. Unsurprisingly, the moment the door closed, their lips were attached, but a little unexpectedly, this time it was Rachel who had backed Quinn up against the door and pinned her there. She wasn't complaining—like, at all. Rachel's tongue slid between her parted lips and she met it eagerly. Those small (completely unmanly) hands moved down from her shoulders and skimmed over Quinn's breasts ever so lightly before coming to rest over her ribs, thumbs moving in circles over the tight fabric of her shirt just beneath her breasts.

_Holy hell, that feels good._

Quinn moaned and ran her hands over Rachel's back, wishing that the sweater wasn't in the way. When her fingertips hit denim, she hesitated, but then Rachel nipped at Quinn's lower lip with her teeth, and Quinn dipped her hands, cupping the curve of Rachel's ass in her palms and squeezing. Rachel gasped, then groaned, dropping her head onto Quinn's shoulder and breathing unevenly.

"I think we need to slow down," Rachel whispered.

Quinn wanted to laugh, because usually that was her line, but her body was too overheated to appreciate the humor in the situation. She nodded and let her hands fall away from Rachel, who released one last regretful sigh before stepping back out of Quinn's personal space. Glancing at Rachel's flushed face, she noted the glistening lips and blown pupils and hissed out a breath. "Maybe we should go back downstairs," she suggested, because suddenly being alone with Rachel and a bed didn't seem like the wisest decision.

Rachel chuckled a little, pacing over to that same (too tempting) bed and sitting down on the edge. "You're the former president of the Celibacy Club. Are you saying you don't have the wherewithal to resist the school prude?" She scowled a little as she said the last word.

"Finn is a damn moron," Quinn pointed out, "and I have the means, just apparently, not the desire." She frowned as she repeated that in her head. "I finally feel the desire to not resist," she rephrased, and Rachel giggled.

"Come here," she requested, holding out her hand.

Quinn's eyebrow twitched. "Do you really think that's such a good idea?" she asked, even though they'd managed to be alone in here last night without having a real problem. Yes, they'd kissed and done some pretty tame petting, but things hadn't gotten out of hand. Probably because Rachel had been in full Berry Superstar mode and was largely preoccupied with perfecting their song.

Rachel dropped her hand and titled her head thoughtfully. "Maybe not, but I really don't think either one of us is actually ready to have sex just yet."

"Rachel," she whispered, feeling her face heat at the casual way the words dripped from Rachel's lips.

"We can say the word, Quinn. It isn't exactly taboo."

"It was in my house," she muttered. Rachel smiled up at her and patted the mattress, silently requesting her to sit down. Quinn sighed and moved to the bed, carefully sitting two inches away from her. Rachel shook her head and shifted over until their legs and arms pressed together, and Quinn bit her lip. "You do things to me," she quietly confessed.

"Yes, I have actually noticed that." Rachel's eyes were sparkling with humor. "You do things to me, as well," she said, linking their hands together, "but we don't have to do anything that we're both not fully comfortable with. That being said, I seem to be alarmingly comfortable doing a lot of things with you already, and frankly, it scares me a little bit."

"I scare you?" Quinn asked with a frown.

"The way you make me feel scares me—like I'm losing control. Oddly enough, I think I trust  _you_  implicitly. It's myself that I don't trust."

"That is odd, because you're probably the most responsible person I know."

Rachel frowned a little. "I notice that you didn't say trustworthy."

"They're totally synonymous," Quinn argued.

"But not entirely interchangeable."

"Are you going to bust out the dictionary?" Quinn asked with a smile.

"Are you mocking me?" she gasped with feigned affront.

Quinn laughed, leaning over and pressing a chaste kiss to Rachel's mouth. "Not mocking, baby. Teasing. Because…"

A hand pressed over her lips, and Rachel growled, "Don't even say it, Quinn Fabray."

She poked out her tongue and licked Rachel's fingertips, and Rachel countered by licking her own upper lip. Quinn groaned, "God, you and that tongue of yours are going to drive me insane."

"That is the long term goal, yes," she husked, looking up at Quinn through hooded eyes.

Quinn grabbed her around the waist and pulled her closer, claiming her and her tempting tongue— _and try saying that five times fast_ —on second thought, Rachel could probably do it. Quinn broke the kiss with a shuddering breath. "So, what musical are you going to subject me to tonight?" she asked pleasantly.

Rachel smirked. "While I do not deny having a large selection of musicals in my collection, I do own other genres of film, Quinn. And since I'd rather not scare you away quite so soon into our relationship, I'll even let you choose."

"I don't scare easily, Berry," she promised with a wicked grin. If she did, Rachel's brand of crazy would have sent her running a long a time ago. "But I'm not about to turn down power when it's so kindly offered to me."

"Yes, I do know that about you," Rachel reminded her with a smile.

"So, what do we have to choose from?"

Rachel extracted herself from Quinn's embrace and stepped over to a wall cabinet, opening the door to reveal six full shelves packed with DVD cases. Her eyes widened. "Ho-ly crap. What did you do, knock over a Blockbuster?"

"Very funny. I," she paused, dropping her eyes to the floor, "I spend a lot of time alone," and Quinn felt her heart start to ache. She stood and crossed the room in three strides, wrapping Rachel up into her arms.

"Oh, baby," she breathed, and the girl gripped her waist tighter, melting into the hug. "You'll be spending your time with me from now on," she promised.

"That would be nice," Rachel whispered.

Quinn pulled back and tenderly brushed at Rachel's bangs. "Do you want to go to a movie with me tomorrow?"

Rachel looked surprised. "Like… _out_ to a movie?"

She snickered, "Yes…out."

"Like a date?" Rachel clarified.

"No," Quinn said, and Rachel's hopeful smile dimmed. "Not  _like_  a date, Rach. A  _date_ ," she emphasized. "Will you go out on a date with me?"

There was nothing quite like one of Rachel Berry's smiles—not the megawatt  _I'm-going-to-be-a-star_ smile, but the sincere  _I'm-genuinely-happy_ smile. A blissful "yes" came flying out, and then that smile met her own in a quick, joyful kiss.

"Just no science fiction," Quinn begged.

"Please, Quinn, that's not to my taste at all."

"Are you going to make me see some kid's movie?"

Rachel ducked her head a little. "Well, I suppose not."

Quinn sighed, "Which one?"

_Please let it be the one with the cowboy lizard and not the one with the gnomes. I hate gnomes…they're so freaky._

Rachel giggled at her obvious lack of enthusiasm for a G rated movie. "While I do occasionally enjoy the animated features that you so carelessly classify as _kid's movies,_ I do have a myriad of interests when it comes to entertainment. So, how about  _Red Riding Hood_? Would that be acceptable to you?"

"Ah Rach, you do know that's kind of a horror film, right?"

Her laughter rang out, and Quinn smiled at the sound. "Of course, I do. I happen to like a little suspense now and then…not to mention, Amanda Seyfried."

"Amanda Seyfried?" Quinn echoed with a slight frown.

"Yes, Quinn," Rachel answered patiently. "She has a very nice voice, you know? She starred in the film version of  _Mamma Mia._ But you'd probably recognize her from  _Mean Girls_. Not to imply that you should be particularly familiar with that movie…"

"I'm familiar," Quinn cut off her moderately cute rambling. "I also know who the actress is. I'm just kind of surprised your such a…fan."

Rachel blushed. "Well, she is very talented, and…a-attractive."

Quinn's eyes widened. "Oh, my God. You think she's hot, don't you?"

"Maybe a little," she confessed, fidgeting in the circle of Quinn's arms. "Apparently, I have a type," she muttered lowly.

"Am I going to have to watch you around every pretty blonde?" Quinn teased.

"You're the only blonde that I'm interested in, sweetheart."

Quinn stilled at the endearment, and then grinned widely. "I like that," she whispered, dipping her head to steal a kiss. "Now, what shall we watch tonight?" she asked, spinning out of Rachel's arms and looking over the shelves. She started to laugh as her eyes darted along the titles. "Why am I surprised? Of course they're in alphabetical order by genre."

Rachel placed her hands on her hips. "Well, how else would you suggest cataloging them, Quinn?"

"You're so cute." Quinn reached blindly for a movie, not really caring what she picked. She had a feeling she and Rachel wouldn't really be watching it anyway.


	27. Appearances

**Appearances**

"Santana, I…I need your help."

" _Gracias a Dios, you finally realized you're dating a crazy ass midget and you want out. I'm totally on board with that."_

"Stop insulting my girlfriend," Quinn growled into the phone. She was sitting crossed leg in the middle of her bed, twisting her hair around her fingers nervously. Santana's resigned sigh could be heard over the line.

" _Guess not then. So what's the problem?"_

Quinn hesitated, biting her lip as her hand tightened around her cell phone. This was probably a really bad idea, but she was feeling a little desperate right now. "I'm taking Rachel out on a date and I need your advice." A few seconds of loaded silence followed, then she had to jerk the phone away from her ear at the eruption of boisterous laughter. "Thanks for your support, Santana. I'm really feeling the love," Quinn muttered sarcastically.

" _Hoo boy. I needed a good laugh. Now, really…why the hell are you calling me this early on a fucking Saturday?"_

"It's not that early," she grumbled. It was almost ten o'clock.

" _Well, it's pretty damn clear that_ _ **you**_ _didn't spend the whole night gettin' your groove on with your smokin', hot girlfriend. You're fucking lucky you didn't wake up Britt, or else I'd really be pissed."_

Quinn felt the tips of ears heat at Santana's implication. "I'm sorry. I obviously shouldn't have called you."

" _No, you shouldn't have, but I'm awake now so what-the-hell-ever. Although, I'm still a little unclear why you actually_ _ **are**_ _calling me. You've been on dates before, Quinn."_

"But not with Rachel."

" _Jesus, big deal, you're going out with_ _ **Berry**_ _. Just take her to Chuck E Cheese or something and she'll be happy."_

Quinn released an irritated huff at hearing yet another insult. She really shouldn't have called Santana. "Stop joking around," she growled. "It's our first date. I don't want to mess it up."

" _Then call Hummel. He's into all that romantic crap."_

Quinn sighed and fell backwards onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling. "I don't need your advice on that part, Santana. I need to know… How do you and Brittany do it."

There was another momentary pause, and then,  _"Are you fucking kidding me? You're asking me how to have sex with a girl?"_

She shot back up into a sitting position, completely mortified. "What? No….no, no. I didn't mean…I don't…" Although, she supposed she'd have to figure that part out eventually, but she would never in a million years ask Santana Lopez for pointers on lesbian sex _._  "I just want to know how you and Brittany handle going out in public together."

" _Ah, so that's it. You wanna know how to date another girl and keep it on the down-low when you both fucking suck at subtle."_

Quinn took offense, and barked out a bitter laugh, "You're not exactly a master of stealth either, Lopez. I've been out with you and Brittany."

" _Yeah. So you know we just don't give a fuck. We've been handsy since we were in grade school. We play it off as being BFFs and nobody even notices anymore. But you and Berry suddenly being all sweet and cuddly—that might raise some rainbow flags."_

That was exactly what Quinn was afraid of. When she'd asked Rachel to go out with her last night, she hadn't really been thinking about how hard it would be to go on a date and not  _act_  like it was a date. "So how do we keep that from happening?" she asked, hoping Santana might actually take pity on her and give her some tips.

" _Don't ever go out in public together."_

"Will you please be serious?" Quinn growled.

" _I am being serious. You kind of advertise the gay whenever you look at Berry, and she's pathetically obvious with those big, moony eyes of hers."_

Quinn hung her head down and pressed her fingers into her forehead, trying to rub away the panic she felt building there. "So you're basically telling me I'm screwed."

There was an audible sigh on the other end of the phone.  _"Look, for what it's worth, Quinn, you're generally pretty fucking hard to read when you want to be. Just tap into that frigid bitch you've been channeling for the last seventeen years. And Berry may behave like a lovesick little puppy most of the time, but she's also a goddamned actress. She's capable of putting on a convincing show when she has to—and don't you ever fucking tell her I said that. Unless you both shout it from the rafters, your waitress at_ _Breadstix_ _is not going to notice you're on a date."_

Quinn felt a smile stretch over her face at Santana's unique brand of encouragement, and she relaxed back onto her mattress. She felt better, and she realized that  _this_  was why she'd called her second in command. As complicated as their love-hate relationship had always been, at least she could always count on the girl to be brutally honest with her.

"I'm not taking Rachel to Breadstix," she confided. "She doesn't really like it there."

" _Okay—you_ _ **need**_ _to break up with her. That's just not natural."_

Quinn ignored the comment. "We're going to a movie. Then I thought I'd take her to that Thai place on Pine Street."

" _How does somebody not like Breadstix? You. Get. Endless. Breadsticks."_

Quinn rolled her eyes, even knowing that Santana couldn't see her. "Can we focus on  _me_  for a minute instead of your weird food obsession?"

" _It's not weird. They're awesome. And free. And I really don't wanna listen to you being all nauseating about your pint-sized girlfriend. What movie are you taking her to anyway? No, wait. Let me guess…there aren't any musicals playing, so it's gotta be some sappy love story."_

Quinn smiled. "I thought you didn't want to hear about it."

" _Morbid curiosity."_

"She wants to see  _Red Riding Hood_."

" _Wow, that's…not completely lame. I'm impressed."_

"Rachel's full of surprises," Quinn murmured, fondly recalling the way they'd curled up together on her bed last night, talking and kissing and totally ignoring the movie she'd picked out.

" _Yeah, never gonna wanna hear about her surprises, Quinn. You keep that freaky shit to yourself."_

Quinn laughed, "I will if you will."

" _So, we done with part two of your big gay panic? 'Cause my girl is waking up and she likes a little sugar for breakfast."_

"You're such a horndog," she said with a laugh.

" _Just wait, Fabray. You'll be one, too. It's different when…when you actually, you know, feel something."_

Quinn was stunned at soft quality of Santana's voice. "You really love her, don't you?"

" _So fucking much."_  The words came without hesitation, and there was a lengthy silence that followed during which Quinn processed the fact that she'd just heard her friend admit to being in love with Brittany _. "But that's enough of the sap fest. Have a good time at the movie, Q. Two words. Back. Row. Fewer eyes on you when the lights go down."_

Quinn chuckled, "Thanks, Santana."

" _Yeah. Whatever. Later, bitch."_

Quinn tossed her cell phone on the bed beside her and continued to gaze up to the ceiling. Okay, she could totally do this date thing. She just needed to keep it in the friend zone. They'd done okay at school on Thursday and Friday—except for the part where they'd gotten caught making out by Brittany and Santana and then outed themselves to the glee club—no problem at all. But Rachel's dads hadn't suspected anything last night, so they should be golden in front of a bunch of strangers.

Feeling a little more confident after her talk with Santana—and she was fully aware of the irony—Quinn made her way downstairs to spend some  _quality_  time with her mother. That typically consisted of breakfast, a little awkward small talk, and Quinn escaping back to her bedroom while Judy did laundry or balanced her checkbook. They couldn't really afford to keep their housekeeper after the divorce, so her mother was relearning all those necessary tasks that she'd once forgone in favor of the wine glass that had been permanently attached to her right hand.

This morning, Quinn was greeted with the sight of her mother sitting on the armchair with a cup of coffee next to her and the newspaper in her hands. Judy smiled at her, "Good morning, Quinnie. Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah," she grunted.

"Do you want me to make you breakfast?"

Quinn shook her head, "No, thanks. I'll just grab a bagel."

Her mother frowned a little. "If you're sure. It wouldn't take very long to whip up some eggs and bacon."

"I'm not that hungry," she insisted as she passed by her mom and into the kitchen, grabbing a knife and cutting a plain bagel neatly in half. She skipped the cream cheese and just poured herself a glass of milk before sitting down at the table and nibbling on her breakfast. Quinn was still a little too nervous about today to really have much of an appetite.

Like clockwork, her mother entered the room and sat down across from her, and like clockwork, she asked, "How are you, honey? Is everything okay in school?"

Quinn sighed, "I'm fine, Mom. School is fine." She lifted her glass of milk and took a sip, hoping that would be the extent of Judy's bonding exercise for the day. No such luck.

"What about that boy you're dating? I haven't seen him for a few days."

She froze, swallowing the drink she'd taken and carefully setting the glass back on the table. "We broke up," she admitted, feeling a little bad that she hadn't told her mom about it right away, but it had ended so quietly, and then she'd been focused on Rachel. Quinn just hadn't really thought about letting her mother in on the details of her personal life.

Judy's eyes turned immediately sympathetic. "Oh, honey, did you two have a fight?"

"No. We just realized we weren't right for one another," Quinn told her honestly, because Sam didn't have the  _right_ body parts. "We're still friends though."

"Oh. Well, can I be honest?" her mother asked with a thoughtful frown.

"Ah…yeah."

"Sam seemed like a very nice boy, but he wasn't really very bright. You can do so much better," Judy told her with a smile.

Quinn chuckled a little. "Yeah, I can," she agreed. Rachel was  _so_  much better than Sam, and Finn, and especially Puck. Rachel actually had a future and would get the hell out of Lima. If Quinn decided to be her old scheming self, she could totally take advantage of Rachel's inherent goodness and hitch her wagon to her girlfriend's rising star, but she loved Rachel too much to ever do that. She did, however, plan to do everything in her power to make sure that Rachel got everything she'd ever dreamed of, and if Quinn happened to be standing beside her when those good things started happening—well, she wasn't going to have any complaints.

"So, I was thinking," her mother began with a hopeful expression, "we haven't spent much time together lately. Why don't we go out to lunch and get in some shopping—have a mother-daughter day out?"

Leave to her mom to have the worst timing ever. "Sorry, Mom, but I already made plans."

Judy frowned, clearly disappointed. "Oh. Is it with a boy? Because if you're dating someone new already, I'll have to insist on meeting him," and Quinn's eyes went wide.

 _Well, sure. Hey Mom, meet Rachel Berry. My Jewish, bisexual_ _**girl** _ _friend with two gay fathers. Surprise. Yeah, that's not happening._

A slightly hysterical giggle bubbled up, and Quinn pursed her lips to keep from letting it escape. "I'm not dating any boys right now," Quinn rushed out  _Or ever again._ quot;I'm…ah…going to the movies with,"  _Rachel Berry_ _—yes,_ _ **Berry**_ _,_ _the daughter of that homosexual couple that daddy used to rant about_ , "Santana and Brittany," she lied. "You remember them."

Judy made a little face. "Of course." Quinn knew her mother wasn't overly fond of Santana with her brash behavior and crass language. "Well, maybe we can have our day out tomorrow?"

Quinn sighed in relief. "Sure, Mom."

 

•••

When Quinn rang the bell to Rachel's house that afternoon, she was fiddling with her cardigan. She'd spent twenty minutes staring into her closet and trying to decide what was appropriate to wear on a first date when you were trying to impress your girlfriend while maintaining the appearance that you rally didn't care how you looked because you were just supposed to be hanging out with a friend. As it was, she was surprised that her mother hadn't made some comment about the yellow tea-length sundress and white cardigan that she'd finally settled on. She was far more dressed up than she should be for hanging out with the other two cheerleaders. The door finally opened to reveal Rachel in a short, navy blue skirt and a plain white blouse with the top three buttons undone.

_Hello, naughty Jewish schoolgirl._

Quinn managed a breathy, "hello," as she stepped through the front door, ogling Rachel's outfit, and the minute it closed, Rachel grabbed her hands and rocked up onto her toes to deliver a quick but thorough kiss. Quinn registered pleasure, then complete fear at getting caught and she jerked her hands away and stepped back. "Your dads…"

"Are out at a wine tasting and won't be back until this evening," she supplied with twinkling eyes. "You may properly kiss me hello now."

Quinn felt herself relax, and she wrapped her arms around Rachel's waist and pulled her small body flush to her own. "Hello," she said again, and dipped her head to catch Rachel's lower lip between her own.. "You look amazing," she murmured happily when she finally lifted her head, still keeping Rachel in the circle of her arms.

"I look like I always look," Rachel argued with a frown. "You, however, are an ethereal vision of loveliness."

She felt her face heat and she grinned. "This old thing," she teased, secretly loving that Rachel had such a way with words. Weird, when she recalled that there had actually been a time when she'd wanted to punch Rachel for the very same quality _—_ then proceed to kiss the hell out of her, but Quinn hadn't been admitting to that part at the time.

Rachel smiled up at her. "You are always _—_ have always been _—_ utterly gorgeous, Quinn," she said with quiet sincerity.

How could she resist that? She stole another kiss, this time parting Rachel's lips to deepen the connection. She felt Rachel's hand splay across her back, underneath the cardigan, as her body pressed a little closer, and Quinn started to feel a bit dizzy. She lifted her mouth away from the sweet taste of Rachel Berry, and gazed down at her dazedly. "Why are we going out again when we could stay here and do this all afternoon?" she wanted to know.

Rachel breathed out a soft laugh and extricated herself from Quinn's arms, much to her annoyance. Licking her lips—and causing Quinn to moan—Rachel smoothed out the wrinkles in her shirt. "Because, Quinn, you asked me  _out_ on a date, and I am not letting you renege, no matter how enticing I may find the alternative."

"You just want to drool over Amanda," Quinn pouted.

An impish grin flitted over Rachel's mouth. "Possibly." Turning, she grabbed her purse and keys from the table, then took Quinn's hand. "Come on. We can't be late or we won't have any hope of getting a good seat."

Remembering what Santana had told her, she said, "I like to sit in the back row."

Rachel paused and glanced back over her shoulder with a knowing smile. "How convenient, that's exactly the row I intend to claim."

 

•••

Rachel prided herself on being very punctual, so they'd arrived at the movie theater a full forty minutes early, and thus, had no problem at all claiming the coveted back row _—_ despite the fact that they'd had a brief argument at the box office window about which one of them should pay. Quinn had wanted to pay for them both, but ever cognizant of maintaining appearances _—_ even though she'd been silently singing in joy that Quinn was so gallant _—_ Rachel insisted on going Dutch. The girl at the register had likely thought them both insane as they'd quietly bickered back and forth over eight dollars, but she hadn't made any comments. Upon claiming their seats, Quinn had offered to go for popcorn, but Rachel reminded her that it was all buttered and completely non-vegan and she wouldn't eat any of it. Seeing the dejected look on Quinn's face, she'd told her to go buy some for herself, but Quinn declined.

"Too fattening," she'd muttered, to which Rachel had assured her that she didn't have anything to worry about. Quinn hadn't looked convinced.

Once the movie had started, they both got caught up in it, but that hadn't stopped Rachel from putting her hand over Quinn's or turning it over and entwining their fingers together. There had been a couple of boys at end of their row, so they hadn't been able to get away with much else, but Quinn's head had ended up resting on Rachel's shoulder for a good ten minutes anyway.

They were still holding hands when the credits began to roll, and Quinn started to pull away and shift in her seat, but Rachel held on tighter to her hand. "Wait." Quinn looked over at her with a slight frown, and she shook her head and smiled. "I like to watch the credits," she explained.

Quinn chuckled, "Of course you do."

Actually, while Rachel did generally like sit through the entire cast credits, she really just wanted a reason to keep holding Quinn's hand for awhile longer. The boys next to them had already sprinted out, and the theater was steadily emptying. "I may like to people watch, too," she admitted. "Or perhaps I'd just like to sit in the dark with my girlfriend for a few more minutes."

Quinn sighed, and dropped her head back onto Rachel's shoulder. "So, did you like the movie that you wouldn't let me pay for?"

Rachel smiled at the petulant note in her voice. "I really did. It's nice to think that true love can overcome anything—even lycanthropy."

Quinn lifted her head and looked at Rachel with a raised brow. "You really are kind of a hopeless romantic, aren't you?"

She felt her face heat, and she ducked her head. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to find that one special person to love, Quinn. The person that will stand beside you through all of your highs and lows, alternately grounding you and helping you to soar."

Quinn continued to study her intently, and Rachel began to fidget from the scrutiny of those hazel eyes. "Someone…someone to balance out your crazy," Quinn finally added in a whisper.

Rachel heard the word crazy and frowned. "Are you speaking in general terms, or to my crazy specifically?"

Quinn shook her head and grinned, "I like your crazy, baby. I just…I get what you're saying. It's a nice dream to have, but you do know that life doesn't always give you that happy ending."

She felt her chest tighten at Quinn's obvious lack of optimism. She supposed that she understood it after everything that Quinn had gone through last year, but it was wholly unacceptable to Rachel to allow this amazing woman to ever become complacent. "Well, I know that, sweetheart. That's why you have to _work_  for it," she told Quinn with a confident smile. Then quickly scanning the theater to see that they were, in fact, the only ones left, Rachel quickly pecked Quinn's lips. "Now, I believe you promised me dinner, too," she reminded Quinn with a smile as she stood, tugging on her hand until she followed.

"You are such a bossy little thing," Quinn said with an indulgent grin.

Rachel snorted. "Pot. Kettle. Black."

They were laughing and smiling as they headed for Quinn's car, even though they had to drop one another's hands before they exited the theater. Quinn drove them to the Thai Garden _—_ she'd been courteous enough to ask Rachel if the restaurant was vegan-friendly beforehand _—_ and they were shown to a booth and handed menus.

"So, have you eaten here before?" Quinn asked.

"Yes, quite often, actually," Rachel responded as she glanced over her options. "Have you?"

Quinn shook her head. "No. I've always wanted to try Thai food, though. Any recommendations?"

Rachel bit her lip and studied Quinn. Thai food was a bit of an acquired taste, and she didn't want Quinn to end up regretting her decision to come here. "You do know that most Thai food is…ah…quite spicy. Is that a problem for you?"

Quinn shrugged, "Not really. You should try some of Mrs. Lopez's spicy Mexican chicken. She loves her green chilies," she finished with a smile.

"Hmm, well, it isn't entirely the same, but at least you're prepared. Even so, I still have plans for your tongue later on tonight, so I'd like to spare it some trauma."

"I can't believe you just said that," Quinn whispered. Her cheeks were turning rosy again and her eyes were sparkling with hints of green.

Rachel smirked at her girlfriend and shrugged, finding this whole teasing thing to be inordinately fun. It gave her a little rush of power and made her feel…sexy. Why had she never tried it before?

_Oh, that's right. Finn. He never could pick up on the finer points of innuendo. You had to beat him over the head with it…repeatedly._

"You should realize by now that I mostly say what I'm thinking," she reminded Quinn, whose blush spread right down her throat and over her chest. Rachel's smirk grew a little smug, and she turned her attention back to the menu. "I'll recommend the Pad Thai. Ask for it mild," she instructed.

Quinn took a deep breath and lifted her own menu again to scan over the description "I'm trusting you, here, Berry," she teased.

"I would never lead you astray," Rachel promised.

"My cat was a stray," a familiar voice cut in.

Rachel's breath caught at the interruption and she jerked her head up, along with an equally shocked and frowning Quinn. Santana plopped down on the edge of the seat next to her captain. "Move it, Blondie."

"What are you doing here?" Quinn whispered harshly with a scowl on her face.

"Joining our friends for dinner so we don't have to wait thirty minutes," Santana answered, shoving Quinn over with her hip and forcing her to make room in the booth. Rachel scooted over to allow Brittany to sit next to her, watching Quinn closely for signs of the impending explosion.

"Did you take a wrong turn on the highway? This isn't Breadstix," Quinn hissed.

"Really?" Santana responded with a roll of her dark eyes. "Wow, guess I'll have to try something new."

"It's not new," Brittany said, stealing Rachel's menu. "We totally ate here last month, before San got all jealous and pouty."

Santana frowned. "I wasn't pouty. I was bitchy."

"Amen to that," Rachel muttered under her breath.

"Aren't you Jewish?" Brittany asked with a perplexed expression.

"You got something to say to me, Berry?" Santana challenged

Rachel drew a breath and leveled her gaze on her, trying her very best not to twitch like a scared rabbit under that harsh glare. She was admittedly still wary of Santana Lopez. "She was just agreeing that you're a bitch," Quinn growled, saving Rachel from answering. "One who apparently likes to mess up other people's plans."

Santana matched Quinn's scowl with one of her own. "Then  _someone_  shouldn't have woken my fine ass up this morning to tell me all about them."

That caught Rachel's attention, and she watched Quinn blush and glance guiltily in her direction. "You called Santana?" she asked in surprise.

"I can explain…"

"Quinn wanted make everything perfect for you, Rach," Brittany told her with an excited smile. "It was so sweet—the way she called and asked for advice. I told Santana that we had to come help."

Rachel quirked an eyebrow and glanced across the table with an amused smile. She somehow doubted that Quinn's idea of a perfect first date included Brittany and Santana. Quinn sank down in her seat and released a frustrated sigh, and Santana crossed her arms and glared over at Rachel. "You try saying no to Brittany sometime," she challenged, making it clear who was responsible for this impromptu double date.

"It's true," Brittany bragged. "I can be very persuasive. All I have to do is kiss this little spot that Santana has just behind her…"

"Brittany!"

"Okay, yes, well, I'm sure that's very useful information," Rachel stuttered out quickly, eyes darting over to an embarrassed Santana and a really uncomfortable Quinn, "but I don't think I'll ever be needing to employ that method."

"Damn right, you won't," Quinn warned her.

Santana's eyes lit with an unholy gleam. "Oh, you never know what might happen," she said with a wink at Rachel.

"Stop annoying Quinn, or I won't let you sleep over tonight," Brittany threatened mildly.

"I hate you for this," Quinn grumbled to the girl next to her. "You are going to be running so many suicides on Monday."

"It's alright, Quinn," Rachel soothed. "I don't really mind."  _Complete and total lie. This kind of sucks. "_ I'm certain that the four of us having dinner together will be…fun."

Quinn dropped her chin onto her fist with a frown and muttered, "Yippee."

"Yeah, it's not fun for  _me_  over here either," Santana agreed. "Switch with me, Berry," and Rachel stared at her in confusion for a minute. Santana rolled her eyes and stood, "Come on. I want to sit next to Brittany."

Brittany grinned and clapped twice before she jumped up and leaned into Santana as they both waited for Rachel to move. She slid across the booth and stood, crossing to sit next to Quinn as the other two girls piled into the empty seat and practically sat on top of one another.

"Much better," Santana purred.

"Totally," Brittany agreed.

Rachel turned to Quinn and smiled, but she was still pouting. She reached over and pried the girl's hand out from under her chin and dragged it down onto the seat between them. "It does seem to be a little better this way," she admitted.

"Yeah," Quinn agreed softly, finally letting herself smile a little, "but now we have to watch those two be disgusting while we eat."

Rachel glanced over at the two, but their heads were bent close together and they were whispering about something that she probably didn't want to be privy to. Glancing back to Quinn, she started to laugh, and Quinn was soon smiling happily again, hazel eyes locked on hers as they both forgot about the couple across from them. Well, almost…

"Bring me the seafood curry and make sure it sets my mouth on fire," Santana barked out at the first waiter that came near the table. "I wants to be gettin' my spice on tonight."

All things considered, it really was the perfect first date for them.


	28. An Entirely Different Song

**An Entirely Different Song**

"You're going to be amazing."

Rachel glanced back over her shoulder at her girlfriend and smiled. Quinn looked beautiful in her blue dress with her hair curling softly around her face. Those hazel eyes that she'd spent hours gazing into just to watch the colors change were now sparkling with affection. They'd only been together for just over three weeks, but Rachel knew without a doubt in her mind that she had fallen completely and totally in love with Quinn Fabray—was still falling, actually, and she didn't imagine that she'd ever stop.

Their public relationship had been labeled as the oddest friendship in the history of William McKinley High School, but they really didn't care. The curious murmurings had mostly died down after the first week when more interesting gossip appeared in the form of Ms. Pillsbury-Howell's crumbling, sexless, sham of a marriage. Apparently, Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry weren't nearly as interesting to talk about when they weren't tossing insults and slushies at one another. So Quinn continued to walk the hallways with her ice queen persona and effortlessly part the crowds with a glare, and Rachel continued to be jostled and mostly ignored, but she actually hadn't been slushied since Quinn had made it obvious that they were friends. Of course, it  _had_  only been three weeks, and she'd had similar reprieves in the past, so she wasn't really holding her breath that this was a permanent embargo.

In private, they'd dropped their defenses and talked for hours about anything and everything, discovering that they had more in common than they'd ever known, and that their differences were actually quite complementary. Until Quinn, Rachel hadn't fully realized how often she'd censored her vocabulary or given up on a conversation entirely because Finn just couldn't keep up with her, and she was so happy to finally have someone who could match her intellectually. Quinn satisfied her in ways that no one else ever had, and that wasn't even touching on the physical aspect. Rachel's plan to wait until she was twenty-five to have sex—completely amended. She was only waiting for Quinn.

That wasn't to say that they were rushing into complete physical intimacy, but kissing Quinn had quickly become one of Rachel's favorite activities—along with touching Quinn, being touched by Quinn, sliding her leg between Quinn's, and hearing Quinn moan her name. Generally, Rachel just enjoyed anything involving Quinn. Of course, with Rachel's inexperience and Quinn's  _bad_ experience, they'd established boundaries that they'd agreed not to cross—well, just one boundary, really—but that didn't stop them from exploring other ways to give one another pleasure.

For now, they were still treading carefully. They weren't even out to their parents yet. Quinn was terrified of telling her mother and possibly being kicked out of her house again, and Rachel had wanted her dads to get to know Quinn better and come to adore her as much as she did before telling them that Quinn was actually her girlfriend. And also because the minute her dads knew the truth, an open door policy would be strictly in effect, and Rachel had grown very fond of having it closed. Her room was soundproof, after all. She'd probably be sternly reprimanded once they found out, but it was so worth it.

Quinn was starting to really relax around Rachel's dads, and a relaxed Quinn tended to be very touchy-feely, so Rachel knew that she would need to sit them down and tell them everything very soon. Rachel had yet to even meet Judy Fabray. She was trying to be patient with Quinn, but her girlfriend's reluctance to introduce her to her mother was starting to become something of a sore point between them. Quinn claimed that she just didn't want Rachel to have to deal with her mother's unique brand of unconscious prejudice. The Berry name wasn't exactly anonymous in Lima, and Quinn's mother was aware of the gay couple and had been subjected, just as Quinn had, to Russell's homophobic slurs. Rachel had tried to assure Quinn that there was really nothing that her mother could say that she hadn't already heard, and she had promised to try and censor her own innate defensive responses, but Quinn just wasn't ready to deal with it. As far as Rachel was aware, Judy Fabray believed that her daughter had been spending all of her free time rebuilding her friendship with Santana and Brittany. It hurt, but she'd promised Quinn not to give up on her and it was a promise she intended to keep. She reminded herself once again that it had only been  _three weeks_.

Rachel angled her head to peer out around the curtain, mentally preparing herself for her performance. She'd won the solo due to her superior talent, of course—and maybe because Quinn had done a little lobbying on Rachel's behalf. Okay, possibly it was more like subtly threatening their fellow glee clubbers into seeing things her way, but that was just a minor detail. Rachel was determined to win Regionals. She would not be denied for a second time—New Directions  _was going_ to New York for Nationals, and she was going to lead them there by blowing the judges away.

"Of course I am," she murmured, reaching back to grasp Quinn's hand.

Quinn chuckled as she stepped closer and leaned down. "And so modest, too," she breathed against the shell of Rachel's ear, causing Rachel to shiver.

She turned a quirked a brow at her girlfriend. "I see nothing wrong with having confidence in my own talent."

"Well, you have it in abundance, baby."

Rachel frowned up at her. "I hope you are referring to the talent part of my statement, Quinn Fabray."

"Of course," Quinn promised with grin. Around them, their fellow glee clubbers were getting into their positions, and Quinn's eyes darted around the backstage area to make sure that no one outside their friends was really paying attention to them before she bent and pressed a quick kiss to Rachel's cheek. "Break a leg."

"I love that you're making an effort with the theater lingo," Rachel told her with grin, silently scolding her body for reacting to Quinn's proximity even as she involuntarily swayed closer.

A soft smile curved Quinn's lips as she gazed down at Rachel adoringly, and she seemed to hesitate for a second. "Rachel?"

"Yes, Quinn."

"I love you," she whispered.

Rachel blinked.

_I love you._

Her breath caught and her lips parted, but no sound came out.

_Quinn loves me._

She blinked again.

Quinn's smile grew. "Just thought you should know," she said, and with a final squeeze to Rachel's hand, she let go and hurried to get into her position just as the announcer was introducing them.

_Quinn Fabray loves me…and…oh, my God…my cue!_

On instinct, Rachel hit her mark perfectly, plastered on her show face and let her voice fill the auditorium. She had the lyrics and choreography down perfectly, and that was a very good thing, because her heart was singing an entirely different song with an erratic rhythm because  _Quinn Fabray just said_ _ **I love you**_ _for the very first time!_  She would probably be very cross with her later for her questionable timing, but right now—Rachel was on cloud nine and she poured all of her own love and joy into her performance.

The roar of applause was a beautiful drug that rushed through her veins and added to the high that Quinn's words had already provided her. When she turned with a giddy smile to slip back into the group for the next song, her eyes immediately found Quinn, who was beaming at her with pride, and Rachel winked at her. She felt the energy around her building as they sang together, and she watched Brittany and Mike move with fluid grace across the stage. She surreptitiously grazed her fingers across Quinn's arm whenever the choreography brought them close enough to touch. This was special. This was magic. They were  _so_  going to win this.

Seeing the entire audience rise to their feet in a standing ovation gave Rachel chills, and they were all smiling and laughing and soaking in the accolades. She felt a sure hand settle onto her lower back as they filed off the stage, and she glanced over her shoulder to catch Quinn's eyes—she was glowing. "You were so incredible, Rach."

" _We_  were incredible. We're going to  _win_ ," Rachel promised, reaching back to grab Quinn's hand as they entered the green room to wait for the judges to deliberate.

The second they were all inside, Mr. Schuester was congratulating them with a huge grin. "I am so proud of you guys. You put your hearts and souls into that performance, and the crowd adored you. No matter what happens with the judges, you're all winners in my book."

"Screw that," Santana snapped. "I wants me that trip to New York."

"I'm with ya on that, sistah," Mercedes agreed, giving Santana a friendly fist bump.

Brittany wrapped her arms around Santana's waist from behind and dropped her chin on the girl's shoulder. "You're so cute when you bond with our friends."

Santana bristled. "I'm not  _cute_."

"You're freaking adorable," Quinn told her drolly.

"A big ol' cuddly teddy bear," Kurt added in amusement.

Santana scowled and attempted to lunge forward, but Brittany wasn't letting her go. "I  _love_  teddy bears. They're soft and huggable."

"You're killin' me here, Britt."

"I'll make it up to you later."

Puck grinned. "Can I watch?"

"In your dreams, Puckerman." Santana shot him a glare and turned in Brittany's arms, tugging her over into the corner of the room for a little privacy.

Mike and Tina were snuggled into one of the oversized chairs, and she glanced up and asked, "How long do you think it'll take until the judges decide?"

"I'm not sure, Tina," Mr. Schuester told her. "We just need to be patient."

Rachel huffed. She  _hated_  waiting. Glancing around the room, she saw that Puck was leaning against the wall talking with Artie, Mercedes had turned to Kurt and started chatting about the other teams costumes, and Finn was standing off to the side staring longingly in her direction. Quinn was frowning at his obviousness as she sat down on the edge of the sofa next to Sam and tried to pull Rachel down beside her, but Rachel had too much nervous energy to sit still. She smiled down at Quinn, but gently tugged her hand free and paced over to the door and peeked out, searching for any sign of the stagehand coming to fetch them.

"Stunning example of patience there, short stack."

"What have I told you about the name-calling?" Quinn growled.

"It's okay, Quinn," Rachel soothed distractedly as she continued to bounce on her toes and stare out the door. "I really don't mind that one very much."

"See, Berry's cool with me, so you can sheathe the claws now."

Quinn shot Santana an annoyed look as she stood and walked over to Rachel. She laid a hand on her shoulder and attempted to gently guide her away from the door. "Come on, Rach. Come sit with me."

"Quinn…I'm perfectly fine where I am," Rachel whined.

"You're about ten seconds away from storming down the hall, finding the person in charge, and demanding to know what's taking the judges so long when we're obviously the superior team."

Rachel crossed her arms and pouted. "That's a gross exaggeration. I would never presume to mention our obvious superiority. It goes without saying."

Quinn chuckled softly and wrapped her arm more securely around Rachel, leaning down to purr, "Relax, baby" against her ear.

_Again, with the shivers._

Rachel felt herself melt into Quinn's side—she was far too skilled at doing that to Rachel. Quinn maneuvered them closer to the sofa, but before they could sit down, the stagehand poked his head in the door and told them to be on stage in five minutes, and Rachel immediately tensed.

Mr. Schuester clapped his hands. "Alright, guys, let's go."

"Quinn," she whispered.

"Hmm?"

"If…if we don't win…I'm probably going to be very difficult to deal with for a few days. Or quite possibly a few weeks."

"I think I can handle it," Quinn assured her wryly.

Rachel sighed and nodded. "Okay. Let's do this." Then she lifted her chin, took Quinn's hand, and headed for the stage.

Gathered together between the other two show choirs, Rachel felt a calm come over her. Last year at this time, her life had been in turmoil in so many ways—Shelby had rejected her, Jesse had broken her heart, Finn had just declared his love, and the fate of their glee club had been hanging by a precarious thread. When they'd lost, it had felt like all of it had been for nothing, but this year everything was different. Even if they lost, they'd still have this odd little family they'd made, and most importantly, Rachel would have Quinn.

She wanted to reach out and wrap her arms around her girlfriend, but she knew that Judy Fabray was sitting somewhere in the audience, as was her daddy—alone tonight because her dad had disappointingly been called to the hospital for an emergency with one of his patients—and the guise of a platonic friendship could only extend so far in the face of their obvious need for physical contact. So she settled for standing next to Quinn and letting their forearms brush together as they waited for the results to be read.

"In second place…"

Rachel held her breath.

"The Dalton Academy Warblers."

And she exhaled, listening to the applause as the Warblers were presented with their trophy. She looked over to see the forced smiles on the boys' faces that couldn't mask their obvious disappointment. Blaine glanced over towards Kurt and shrugged slightly, and Kurt gave him a sympathetic smile.

"And in first place…"

Her stomach bottomed out.

"William McKinley High School's New Directions."

Rachel stood stock still, trying to determine if she'd really heard that, or if her continuous internal chanting of their name had somehow manifested into a very realistic delusion. The feel of Quinn's arms around her lifting her feet slightly of the ground, followed almost instantly by Puck's arms wrapped around them both from behind her, convinced her that she was, in fact, not dreaming the whole thing.

"Oh, my God, we won!" Quinn squealed.

Puck whooped, "Hell yeah! New York, baby," he growled, pressing a sloppy kiss to Rachel's cheek before he let them go and bounded over to give Artie a high-five. Quinn let go too as Santana and Brittany swooped in to sandwich her in a hug. Rachel giggled at the sight, but Kurt was pulling her into a hug of her own between himself and Mercedes.

"We did it, sweetie."

"We certainly did," Rachel managed through her happy tears.

"'Cause we are  _all that_ , girlfriends," Mercedes pointed out.

When they let her go, she found herself being turned around and lifted up off her feet into Finn's arms. "You were so awesome tonight, Rach," he told her softly. She gripped his shoulders and gave him a quick squeeze before she squirmed out of his arms.

"Thank you, Finn," she murmured uncomfortably. "So were you."

He grinned down at her for a second, then it fell away as his eyes darted over her shoulder. Quinn stepped up beside her and gently pulled her away from the boy, silently staking her claim. He nodded and stepped back. Rachel smiled sadly at him, knowing he still had feelings for her but unable to offer him any comfort.

Kurt wandered over to talk to Blaine, and Rachel took note of their body language and thought that perhaps her friend's love life would be taking a turn for the better very soon. At center stage, Mr. Schuester was accepting their trophy with a huge smile, probably as much for the victory as for an opportunity to land another blow in his fruitless war with Sue Sylvester.

Quinn tugged discreetly on her hand, jerking her head in the direction of the curtains. Rachel allowed herself to be led past their teammates into the backstage area, and then past the stagehands and the members of the Warblers and Oral Intensity that were milling around, and finally tugged back into the empty green room. Quinn closed the door, gently turned Rachel, leaned her back against the wood and dipped her head to kiss her girlfriend almost reverently.

She pulled away ever so slightly, whispering, "I love you," against her lips before she recaptured them, stealing Rachel's breath with her words and her actions. Unable to resist, Rachel opened her mouth and met Quinn's demanding tongue with her own as she speared her fingers into silky blonde hair and tried to pull the girl closer. Quinn's hands slid down to cup Rachel's ass and lift, aligning their hips tightly together and making Rachel moan pleasure. She trailed her lips down a dusky throat and nuzzled the skin, nipping and licking and suckling as she pressed forward with her hips.

Rachel's fingers fisted in Quinn's hair as she tipped her head back against the door and gave her more access. Rachel's breath was coming in short little gasps and groans as her body started to overheat and shift eagerly against Quinn. Beside her hip, the doorknob turned, and the door moved slightly behind her before slamming shut again from the weight of their bodies. Quinn didn't stop kissing her until she heard the pounding next to their heads.

"Hey, chicas. If you're getting down and dirty in there you best be hosing off 'cause you're about to get busted," Santana grumbled, rattling the doorknob again. The door jerked a second time, and Quinn let go of Rachel to press her hands flat and hold it shut. "I know you're in there. Don't make me get Puckerman to break this door down."

"Why am breaking the door down?" Puck's muffled voice asked.

"'Cause Quinn and Rachel are totally having sexy times," Brittany told him.

"Quinn," Rachel hissed in mortification, ducking down and under her arms to escape from their compromising position. She hastily straightened her dress and her hair as quickly as she could as Puck's voice rang through the door loud and clear.

"Fuckin' awesome."

Quinn jumped away from the door a half-second before Puck laid his weight into it and came stumbling into the room—his momentum causing him to trip and land inelegantly on his knees at Quinn's feet. Santana doubled over with laughter in the doorway.

Puck looked around the room wildly, eyes landing on a slightly rumpled but completely dressed Rachel and a pissed off Quinn. His face fell. "Aw, damn it."

"You are such a pig," Quinn spat.

Brittany skipped over and wrapped her arms around Rachel. "I didn't get to hug you yet." She let go and rocked back on her heels, looking Rachel over. "You look hot all mussed up."

Rachel felt her face flame, and it only got worse when Santana sidled up to Brittany and said, "Nice sex hair, Q. Didn't know you had it in you."

Quinn flushed and attempted to fix her own messy hair.

"And I missed it," Puck complained.

"Missed what?" Mr. Schuester asked as he walked in the room followed closely by the rest of the club.

Brittany opened her mouth, but Santana was quick to cut her off. "Berry's obsessive-compulsive practice schedule for Nationals that we just have to dive right into," she said as she moved closer to Brittany and bumped their shoulder together.

"Um, yeah."

"Rachel, why don't you just enjoy this victory for awhile?" the man prompted. "We have time to prepare for Nationals."

She huffed a little at being made the scapegoat (again), but she couldn't deny that she was thankful Santana had stopped Brittany from announcing something wholly inappropriate to their teacher. "You're right, Mr. Schuester," she said sweetly, proud of herself for not choking on the words. She really did think the man was out to destroy her career.

Quinn shifted closer—her cheeks still pink and eyes dark with arousal. "I'm sorry," she mouthed with a sheepish grin.

Rachel couldn't help chuckling. Her body was still humming, but there was a certain humor in the situation. Getting caught in compromising positions was becoming an odd sort of hobby for them.

"Okay, guys. Gather up your things and be at the bus in ten minutes. We have a long drive back, and a trophy to add to the case."

"And a part-tay to be had," Santana chimed in.

Puck nodded. "Damn right."

Quinn grabbed her bag and Rachel's hand and started for the door. They only made it few steps before Quin was face-to-face with her mother. She instantly dropped Rachel's hand.

Judy Fabray smiled and wrapped her daughter in a tight hug. "Oh, Quinnie, you were wonderful out there. I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks, mom."

Rachel stood just behind Quinn and slightly off to the side. She'd felt a little sting of rejection when Quinn had let her go, but she wasn't about to let this opportunity pass without at least a formal introduction to Quinn's mother. So when Judy released her daughter, Rachel stepped forward with a friendly smile and subtly cleared her throat. Quinn glanced at her with a nervous frown, and Rachel raised an eyebrow in challenge.

"Um…M-mom," Quinn stuttered, then bit her lip and took a quick, shallow breath.

Rachel shook her head in disappointment, turned up the wattage on her smile, and extended her hand to the older woman. "Hello Mrs. Fabray. My name is Rachel Berry." Judy took her hand instinctively and gave it a firm shake. "I just want to say how happy I am to finally meet Quinn's mother. Your daughter has been such a wonderful asset to our team, and we are very lucky to have her." She glanced over at Quinn meaningfully.

Judy smiled kindly at Rachel. "It's lovely to meet you too, dear. You have a beautiful voice. I got chills listening to you sing."

Rachel beamed at the woman, tickled by the compliment. "Thank you, Mrs. Fabray."

"You said your last name is Berry?" she asked mildly.

Quinn stiffened beside Rachel and frowned at her mother. Rachel wanted to reach for her hand to reassure her that she was prepared for whatever her mother said, but she knew that wasn't an option. "Yes, ma'am."

"Are your parents here tonight?"

"Mom, please don't," Quinn begged softly.

"Oh hush, Quinnie. I know she has gay fathers. I'm down with that."

Rachel bit down on her lip to keep from laughing, both at Judy Fabray's attempt to be hip and the stunned look of disbelief on Quinn's face.

"You are?" Quinn breathed out.

Rachel smiled at Mrs. Fabray. "Unfortunately, my dad had an emergency and was unable to attend, but daddy should be here somewhere."

Judy raised a brow, and Rachel caught her breath at the resemblance between mother and daughter in that moment. "Is your daddy Leroy, or…ah…Hiram, isn't it?" she asked.

Momentarily speechless that Judy would even know her fathers' given names, Rachel could only inelegantly stutter, "Uh…Leroy?"

The woman smiled and nodded, and Rachel didn't quite know what to make of it, nor did she have a chance to question it further because her daddy managed to find them at exactly that moment.

"There's my little Ray of Sunshine," he shouted from halfway across the hallway, and she cringed at the broadcasting of his private nickname for her. In four long strides, he was in front of her and lifting her off of her feet in an enthusiastic hug. "You knocked them dead out there, baby girl."

Rachel couldn't help grinning and squeezing him for all she was worth. "Well, was there ever any doubt?"

"Never," he answered without hesitation as he set her feet gently back to floor. He took a half-step back, still grinning widely, and nodded a greeting at Quinn. "Hello, Quinn."

"Hi, Leroy," she said with a half-smile, then licked her lips and glanced nervously at her mother. "Ah…this is my Mom, Jud…"

"Judy McQueen," he finished with wide-eyes when he finally noticed the woman. "It's been what? Twenty-five years?" he asked her with chuckle.

"At least," she agreed with a cynical smile. "Hello, Leroy."

Quinn shook her head. "Wait, you two know each other?" she asked her mother incredulously.

"We went to high school together, honey. Although, we didn't really know one another very well," Judy admitted with an apologetic glance in Leroy's direction.

He shrugged. "We ran in different social circles. Judy was the head cheerleader and prom queen," he reminisced fondly.

"And Leroy was editor of the school paper and valedictorian."

Rachel gaped at her father. "I'm stunned."

"That I was valedictorian?"

"That you failed to reveal this pertinent information," she informed him in annoyance as she placed her hands on her hips.

The man narrowed his eyes on his daughter. "You want to talk pertinent information? Because I think you've been a little tight-lipped about a certain something recently," he finished with a subtle glance at Quinn.

Rachel swallowed thickly and looked over at her girlfriend to see the panic in her hazel eyes. Her instinct to protect Quinn kicked in and she lifted her chin as she met her daddy's knowing eyes. "I…I don't know what you mean."

"Uh huh. I think we need to find you some better acting classes, baby girl," he told her with a teasing grin.

"Daddy!" She was highly offended by his implication that her acting skills were in some way inferior.

"We will be revisiting this conversation later," he warned her, then turned to address Quinn's mother again. "I was sorry to hear about your divorce, Judy."

"Thank you for the sentiment, but there's really no reason to be sorry. Russell was…well…it doesn't matter anymore," she said, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You have a beautiful, talented daughter, Leroy."

"Yeah, we like her well enough. We'll probably keep her." Rachel crossed her arms, tapped her foot and huffed audibly, and Leroy laughed at her antics. "We like Quinn, too. You've raised a wonderful young woman."

Judy's eyebrow arched again as she looked at her daughter. "Quinnie, you didn't tell me you that know the Berrys."

Quinn shifted her weight uncomfortably and glanced at the floor. "I…ah…yeah…Rachel and I are…f-friends," she stammered out, and Rachel pushed down her disappointment. She hadn't really expected Quinn to come out right then and there, but she was starting to hate the 'F' word.

"She's been hanging out with Rae at our house the last few weeks," Leroy informed her. "I hope that's not a problem for you." Rachel wondered if the other two women caught the very subtle shift in her daddy's demeanor that warned he'd have a problem with Judy if she said _yes_. Quinn's little hiss of breath and sudden nervous twisting of her fingers together told Rachel that her girlfriend, at least, had noticed.

Judy shook her head and smiled. "No, of course it isn't," and Quinn visibly sagged in relief, until her mother turned her attention back onto her. "I just thought you were spending time with that Lopez girl and the other one…Bridget, or…"

"Brittany, mom," Quinn answered automatically, her cheeks coloring in embarrassment as she attempted to dig out from underneath the little white lies she'd told. "I've been hanging out with them too…um…a little bit," she qualified, and Rachel silently groaned.  _A little bit_ really meant once. Every other time Quinn had told her mother she was with Santana or Brittany or both, she'd actually been with Rachel.

"Quinn, did you think I wouldn't let you spend time with Rachel because her fathers are homosexuals?" Judy asked in disappointment.

Quinn shook her head. "N-no." Her mother gave her a look—actually, Rachel noted with some amusement, it was  _the look_ —and it was just as effective on Quinn as her own was on everyone else. Quinn dropped her eyes. "Maybe?"

Judy reached out and cupped her daughter's chin, gently lifting her face. "Oh, honey. I'm not your father."

"I know," Quinn whispered. "I'm sorry."

The woman brushed at her daughter's bangs. "Well, now that you know I'm cool with the gays," and Rachel cringed, glancing at her father to see his eye roll, "you won't have to sneak around anymore." Quinn's eyes widened comically, and she glanced fearfully at Rachel, but her mother didn't seem notice. Leroy Berry, however, was clearly struggling not to laugh. "And Rachel," the woman continued with a kind smile, "you're welcome at our house anytime."

Rachel suppressed her own laughter. "Thank you, Mrs. Fabray."

"Call me Judy, dear."

"Thank you, Judy."

With a satisfied nod, Judy turned to her daughter. "Come on, Quinnie. I'll take you home."

Rachel frowned, and so did Quinn, who shook her head in refusal. "Oh, I…you don't have to. I can ride the bus with everybody else."

"You want to ride the  _bus_?" her mother asked in disbelief.

They wanted to be together, snuggled close for the entire hour long drive back to Lima, just like they had been on the trip there. Rachel had informed her fathers days ago that they wouldn't need to worry about alternate transportation for her—that she was perfectly content to ride the bus with her teammates. Thankfully, Leroy took pity on the girls.

"According to Rachel, the bus is a rite of passage that promotes team bonding, but I'm guessing that the kids just want to celebrate the whole way back to Lima."

Judy looked at Quinn. "Well, if you're sure."

"Totally sure. I'll see you at home," Quinn promised with a smile.

Her mother kissed her forehead and then addressed Rachel. "It was nice meeting you, dear. I hope to see more of you," and Rachel blushed. "Leroy, it's been lovely seeing you again. Perhaps we could have coffee someday soon and catch up."

"I'd like that." He dropped a kiss on the top of Rachel's head and gave her another gentle hug. "I'll see you later, baby girl. And I'm sure I'll probably see you tomorrow, Quinn," he said with a wink, then turned to Judy Fabray and held out an arm. "May I walk you to your car?"

"Why, how gallant?" she gushed, slipping her own arm into Leroy's. "Of course, you may."

The girls watched their parents walk off together, then looked at one another. Quinn still looked a little dumbfounded, and Rachel could sympathize. Of all the scenarios she'd envisioned of meeting Quinn's mother, this one had never even crossed her mind.

"Rachel, I think your daddy knows about us," Quinn whispered shakily.

She sighed, "I think you're right. Which means he'll probably tell dad if he hasn't already and now the meticulously detailed presentation that I prepared on the subject is ruined."

Quinn stared down at her. "That's what you're focusing on?" she finally asked.

"Quinn, I had an entire page devoted just to creating the perfect atmosphere for the discussion, from food choices to floral arrangements to the appropriate ambient music," she informed Quinn, wanting to convey the gravity of the situation. She'd spend hours working on her plan, not to mention her speech, and now she wouldn't be able to use any of it. "I feel that I'm entitled to be a little disappointed," she pouted, crossing her arms.

"You're a little crazy. Completely adorable," Quinn added with grin as she reached out to pry Rachel's arm from its position and claim her hand again, "but crazy."

"Perhaps," Rachel shrugged, "but you love me anyway."

Quinn's breath caught slightly, and she nodded. "I do."

Her heart soared, so full of joy and love that she couldn't contain her smile. "I should be mad at you for choosing to tell me that right before I had to go on stage."

"But you're not," Quinn said confidently.

"No, I'm not."

Quinn nibbled on her lip as she gazed hopefully down at her girlfriend. "Um…is that all you're going to say?" Quinn asked after a moment.

"What would you like me to say?" she teased.

"Rachel," Quinn warned, then her voice went soft. "Please."

"I think the way that I feel about you is fairly obvious," Rachel assured her softly.

Hazel eyes burned down into hers. "Could you maybe make it perfectly clear?"

Rachel smiled, reaching up with her free hand to cup a soft, pale cheek. "I love you, Quinn."

Those eyes fluttered shut. "Say it again."

"I love you," Rachel repeated softly, waiting for Quinn to open her eyes again. When she did, Rachel saw the joyful tears glistening there, and heedless of anyone who might be watching, she pulled Quinn down for a brief, tender kiss. "I'm  _in_  love with you," she murmured after she pulled back.

A few tears spilled over Quinn's cheeks and she wiped them away with a watery laugh. "Yeah, that's never gonna get old."

Rachel giggled, and tightened her grip on Quinn's hand. "Come on, Quinnie. We don't want to miss the bus."

"Oh, God, please don't ever call me that."

As they made their way out to the parking lot, Rachel glanced over at her girlfriend. "I have to say, your mother was not at all what I was expecting."

"She's not what  _I_  was expecting," Quinn confessed with surprise evident in her voice. "I mean, whenever my dad started going off on one of his rants, she'd always just let him. The only thing she ever really said on the subject was 'love the sinner, hate the sin.' I'm still not sure how to take her attitude tonight."

"Perhaps you should open a dialogue with her," Rachel suggested.

"I'm not ready to come out to her, Rach. Maybe someday, but," she trailed off, jaw set and eyes far away.

"It's okay, Quinn. I'm not going to push you. I do, however, feel the need to point out that your reluctance to introduce me to your mother was completely unwarranted. Furthermore, it took her exactly ten minutes to invite me to your house, something that you have failed to do in three weeks," Rachel pointed out as she stepped up onto the bus, spinning around on the first step to look down at her girlfriend with a grin. "Needless to say, I expect you to make it up to me."

Quinn crossed her arms and titled her head. "And how exactly are you expecting me to do that?"

Rachel grabbed the handrail and leaned down. She ran her tongue across her upper lip and whispered, "I'm sure you can figure out a way to satisfy me," before she turned and bounced up the last two steps. She wasn't surprised at all when she felt Quinn immediately on her heels, or when she was hurried into a darkened seat and quickly wrapped up into her girlfriend's arms.

For the next hour, Rachel learned just how creative Quinn could be with her methods of contrition. It turned out to be a very satisfying bus ride.


	29. A Little Conversation

**A Little Conversation**

On Saturday morning, Rachel woke from a particularly pleasant dream in which she was walking through Central Park arm-in-arm with Quinn (who'd been oddly, but very sexily, dressed in black leather pants and knee high boots) while the members of New Directions danced around them singing an appealing arrangement of  _La Vie Boheme._ She stretched lazily, her mind still half clouded with sleep, and rolled onto her back. Blinking up at the ceiling, the memories of last night came flooding back and Rachel let out a happy little squeal.

They'd won Regionals.

They were going to New York.

And Quinn loved her.

Life was pretty good.

She rolled out of bed and padded to the bathroom, deciding to treat herself a little and skip her workout routine for once. Twenty minutes later, fresh from the shower, she skipped downstairs and breezed into the kitchen, dropping a kiss on each of her fathers' cheeks.

"Good morning, parental figures," she chirped before opening the refrigerator and pulling out the soy milk.

Leroy smirked into his coffee cup. "Good morning, baby girl."

"Morning, sweetie," Hiram said as he neatly folded his newspaper, set it aside and pushed his glasses up higher on his nose.

"You missed an excellent performance last night, dad. You really should have been there."

He smiled. "I don't think Mrs. Larson's burst appendix would have appreciated that, but your daddy recorded the competition for me. I've already watched it twice."

"And was I spectacular?" Rachel asked with a smile as she dropped into a chair.

"You were magnificent."

"Breathtaking," Leroy added with a fond smile, shooting a sly glance at his husband.

Hiram chuckled, "and apparently we're not the only ones who think so."

Rachel's smile disappeared and she pouted at her daddy. "You certainly didn't waste any time." He hadn't mentioned a word about Quinn when she'd gotten home last night. He'd just congratulated her on her performance again and told her to get to bed and get some sleep.

"I warned you we'd be revisiting the conversation, Rae."

"Is your daddy right? Are you and Quinn…romantically entangled?" Hiram asked carefully.

Rachel drew in a breath and nodded. "We are."

Her dad frowned as he studied her. "For your sake, I hope you're going to tell us that this is a very recent development."

She sank lower in her chair. "Um…it's fairly recent."

"Define fairly," Hiram instructed.

Rachel looked to her daddy who was sitting with his brows raised as he absently ran his finger over the rim of his cup. She knew there was no way she'd get away with being economical with the truth on this occasion. "Three weeks, two days, and," she glanced over at the clock, "sixteen hours."

Hiram pursed his lips and folded his hands on the table. "And how many times has Quinn stayed overnight in your bedroom in that period?"

Feeling her face heat, she dropped her gaze to the table and muttered, "two," but then she looked up at her dad with wide, earnest eyes, "but nothing happened. I swear on my autographed Collector's Edition of  _Funny Girl_."

"Really?  _Nothing_ happened?" Leroy prompted.

Rachel blushed furiously, "Well, there may have been  _some_ things happening but not  _that_ thing."

Quinn had spent two consecutive weekends practically living at the Berry house from Friday evening to late Saturday, only going home then so that she could attend church with her mother on Sunday morning. The first time Rachel had nervously asked her if she wanted to sleep over, Quinn had grown wide-eyed and flushed and stuttered out a heartfelt  _yes_. Quinn had come over after school, dropped her overnight bag, and then the girls had gone out to the mall for a few hours to grab dinner and shop together—an entirely acceptable, friendly activity in which they'd had a perfect excuse to model sexy outfits for one another that they'd never actually buy. When they'd gotten back to Rachel's house, they'd headed upstairs—and kissed a little—and eventually changed into their pajamas in the bathroom (separately, of course!) and then proceeded to stare at one another's bodies in the skimpy attire while attempting to disguise the fact that they were staring. They'd put on a movie and anxiously settled onto Rachel's bed a good three feet apart, but gravity had worked its magic and slowly drawn them closer until they were kissing again and touching one another, exploring curves through the barrier of their pajamas and maybe a little bit underneath too. They hadn't done much more, but they  _had_  ended up falling asleep in each others' arms and waking up with their limbs tangled together. Their next sleepover had been more of the same _,_ only they hadn't bothered to pretend that they didn't like looking at one another's bodies or that they weren't eager to touch.

"You lied to us, Rachel. I'm very disappointed in you," her dad said sadly, shaking his head. "Not to mention hurt that you didn't come talk to us about something as important as your sexuality. I really thought that we had taught you better than that."

Oy, her dad was a master at laying on the guilt. "I'm  _so_  sorry, dad, daddy. It wasn't my intention to deceive you. I…I just wanted you to get to know Quinn for the wonderful person that she is before you started trying to decide if she's good enough to date your daughter."

"She isn't," Hiram stated without hesitation. Rachel's heart sank, and she wiped at the tears that were gathering in her eyes. Her dad sighed and reached over to cup her cheek. "Sweetheart,  _no one_ is ever going to be good enough for my little girl. That's just a fact. But honestly, I like Quinn much better than any of those boys you brought around."

"Amen to that," Leroy agreed.

Hiram rolled his eyes at his husband and sat back in his chair. "And on that note—you will  _not_ be spending anymore time alone in your room with Quinn unless your daddy or I are at home and the door is left open. Do you understand?"

"Yes, dad," she sighed. She'd known that was coming.

Her daddy leaned forward on his elbows. "And if you're going to break that rule when we're not home, like I  _know_  you did with Finn," Rachel's eyes went wide and she sucked in a breath, "for God's sake, don't  _ever_ let us catch you," Leroy added.

Hiram shook his head at his husband. "Leroy, I don't think that was necessary to say. We don't want to encourage her."

"Baby, we can't stop them. I mean, really, have you seen her banging-hot girlfriend?"

"Oh, my God. Daddy, please stop," Rachel moaned, burying her face in her hands.

"Furthermore," Hiram continued, "the next time Quinn comes over, we are all going to sit down and have a little conversation about her intentions."

Rachel's head snapped up and she blanched. "Do we have to?"

"Don't worry, baby girl. It won't be any different than the one we had with Finn," Leroy promised with a wicked grin.

"Well, a  _little_  different," Hiram said with a chuckle.

"Dad," she whined with a blush, knowing that he was referring to the part where her daddy threatened Finn with his shotgun if he ever impregnated his baby girl.

"Oh, take a joke, Rae," Leroy admonished her, tossing a piece of his muffin at her playfully. "I thought that Quinn was finally loosening you up." Rachel's blush intensified. Her daddy really didn't need to know just how loose she was getting.

"How did you know, anyway?" she asked him. "I thought we were being very discreet."

Leroy shook his head. "Oh, baby girl, you've always worn your heart on your sleeve, and you just light up whenever you get near that girl. I admit, Quinn was a little harder to read at first, so I was worried that you had an unrequited crush on your new friend, but I started to notice a few little things that made me think it might be mutual. And I was sitting front and center last night, Rae. The entire time you were on that stage, Quinn could not take her eyes off of you. I know the look of love when I see it."

Rachel ducked her head to avoid her daddy's knowing smile, but she couldn't stop her own lips from curving in response. "I suppose it would be entirely anticlimactic at this point to set up the PowerPoint presentation covering the discovery and further exploration of my sexual fluidity."

Both her dads laughed heartily, and Rachel crossed her arms and frowned. Why did no one appreciate the work she put into these things? Hiram was the first to regain control, and he took his glasses off and wiped at his watering eyes. "Sweetie, if it will make you feel better, we'll certainly watch your presentation," he chuckled merrily.

"But I think we're far more interested in hearing how you bagged the head cheerio," Leroy told her a wag of his eyebrows.

"Daddy!"

 

 

•••

Across town, Quinn was enjoying a far more sedate morning with her mother—which was kind of a let down after the awesome night before. She was still processing the fact that New Directions had actually won Regionals. Oh, she knew they were  _good_ , even thought that they were the  _best,_  but Quinn had grown so accustomed to being disappointed over the last few years that winning just sort of felt too good to be true. She'd almost been afraid to go to sleep last night, worrying that when she woke up, it would all have been a beautiful dream.

She still couldn't believe that she'd told Rachel she loved her right before they'd gone on stage. She really hadn't intended for it to happen like that. She'd already bitten back the words so many times because she'd wanted the moment to be perfect. Quinn had wanted to plan a romantic date, maybe take Rachel out to a nice restaurant for dinner, then for a walk, or just sit out on the swing in Rachel's backyard underneath the stars, and she'd turn to her girlfriend, look into her beautiful eyes and tell her that she'd fallen madly and passionately in love with her. Of course, in her little fantasy, Rachel would immediately say it back and they'd kiss, and her dads would be conveniently out for the evening so they'd have the house to themselves to kiss some more and maybe do…other things.

But looking at Rachel in that moment, with her eyes sparkling with excitement and her skin flushed with pre-performance adrenaline, Quinn just couldn't contain the words for one more minute. It felt so good to say  _I love you_ and really mean it for the first time that she hadn't even cared that Rachel didn't echo the words back to her right away. She'd been just about to sing her solo for God's sake, it was hardly the time for declarations of love. And okay, when Rachel still didn't say it in the green room after they'd won, maybe Quinn might have been a little hurt despite her best intentions to be patient and not demand reciprocation, but to be fair, she did have her girlfriend pressed up against a door at the time. So when Rachel finally did utter those three heavenly words, it was the most beautiful sound that Quinn had ever heard.

She hadn't been able to stop touching Rachel the entire ride home—brushing her arms, stroking her cheeks, tracing the curve of her nose with a fingertip, kissing her wrists and her palms and all of her fingers and the curve of her shoulders and her throat and, of course, those perfect lips. Rachel had been breathing shallowly and squirming in her seat for nearly the entire hour, and Quinn hadn't been much better. She'd been so aroused by the time she walked in her house that even the brief, awkward conversation with her mother had been nearly unbearable, and she'd claimed exhaustion and raced up to her room to take care of herself—something she'd gotten embarrassingly good at over the last three weeks.

Before Rachel, she'd been…well, very repressed when it came to sex. Santana hadn't been wrong about that. Quinn hadn't been able to deal with being gay, so she'd ignored it and focused on boys instead, but that didn't mean she'd been attracted to any of them. The only thing that had even turned her on at all had been the power she felt in making her current boyfriend beg while she'd remained completely unaffected. Exploring her own body hadn't been an option for her, partly because a good little Catholic school girl would never do something so crude, but mostly because her mind just wouldn't cooperate when it came to calling up an appropriate fantasy. Attempts at thinking about guys—even her drunken attempt at forcing the physical issue with Puck—never did anything for her, and thinking about girls was wrong and sinful and completely unacceptable. Her pregnancy had been absolute hell, because every time she'd gone to glee and watched Brittany dance, or Santana swish her hips, or… _God_ … _Rachel_ do  _anything_ , she'd gotten so aroused, and she couldn't do a damn thing about it because that would mean she was acknowledging her attraction to girls. But now that she could finally admit who she was and what she wanted, she was kind of making up for lost time.

Rachel had been very helpful, not just for her starring role in Quinn's masturbatory fantasies—and yes, totally Rachel's words—but for actually sitting Quinn down and forcing her into an open and honest conversation about sex. She should have known that Rachel wouldn't shy away from the subject—her girlfriend was notoriously outspoken and often tactless. Quinn still remembered the Celibacy Club meeting last year that the girl had hijacked right out from under her.

Rachel may have somehow managed to pick up a reputation as a prude because she hadn't been ready to actually  _have_  sex with Finn or Puck or Jesse St. Jackass, but lord, she knew how to  _talk_  about it—in explicit detail. Granted, the textbook terminology that she'd initially used in an effort to not embarrass Quinn had exactly the opposite effect, but then Rachel tried a slightly more hands-on approach, and—yeah, the girl was  _really_ not a prude. Just apparently  _much_ gayer than she'd first realized. Or possibly, Quinn was just that good.

But probably, Finn had been just that bad.

She'd really wanted to smack the boy last night when he'd lifted Rachel up into his arms and hugged her. She hadn't cared that they'd all been celebrating their win—it annoyed her to no end that Finn Hudson was still creeping on her girlfriend and waiting for Quinn to screw up so that he could swoop in and take advantage of Rachel in a weak moment. Quinn wasn't ever going to let that happen.

"So what are you planning to do today, Quinnie?" her mother asked, snapping her attention away from her musings. She looked up from her breakfast plate and met curious blue eyes.

"Ah…I was just going to hang out with," Quinn was so used to just saying  _my friends_ , but she suddenly realized she didn't have to, "Rachel."

Her mother smiled at her as she set down her coffee cup. "You should invite her over here. She seemed very nice."

A little smile curved Quinn's lips. "Yeah…she is." She could ask Rachel over here—it would certainly make the girl happy. They could…well, huh? Sitting on the Fabray couch watching television with her mother hovering around didn't actually sound like that much fun. Half the appeal of the Berry house was the habitual absence of Rachel's fathers. With their work schedules, Leroy and Hiram didn't see much of each other during the week, so while Sunday was typically reserved for family time with their daughter, the men liked to get in a little alone time on Saturday, hitting flea markets or antique stores or going for long drives and just stopping at whatever little shop caught their eyes. Her mother was just  _always_  home on the weekends since the divorce.

"She already asked me to go over to her house, though," Quinn fibbed. It was actually more of an open invitation.

Judy Fabray raised her eyebrows and hummed in acknowledgment, and Quinn felt a sick little twist of apprehension in her belly. Licking her lips nervously, she started playing with her glass of orange juice, turning it in methodical little circles on the table.

"So…um…are you really…ah….cool with me spending time at the Berrys? I mean, you weren't just saying that so you wouldn't offend Rachel and her dad?"

Her mother frowned at her. "Quinnie, I know I've given you a multitude of reasons to doubt me in the past, but I'm trying to be…better. If I have a problem with something that you're doing, I'll come out and tell you. I'm actually very proud of you for being so accepting of people who are different after living with your father's… _convictions_."

Quinn latched onto the word  _different_ and tightened her grip on her glass as she scowled at her mother. "The Berrys aren't any  _different_  than anyone else, Mom. They love each other and they love their daughter."  _ **I**_ _love their daughter,_ she silently added _._ "They just both happen to be men."

Judy stiffened in her chair, eyes growing wide. "I…I didn't mean it that way, Quinnie. I won't claim to understand their lifestyle, but it's not my place to judge. Only God can do that, and the God that I believe in wouldn't condemn any of his children for loving another person."

Quinn clenched her jaw so hard she could feel the muscles in her cheek twitch as she stared at her mother. She wanted so desperately to believe her words, but they were just words, and the woman's actions for the past sixteen years told a different story.

"Then why didn't you ever stand up to daddy?" she asked sharply. "You just let him say all those horrible things, and you never said a word…you just…let him treat people like trash because they didn't measure up to his s-standards," she choked back an unexpected sob, pressing a fist to her mouth. She hadn't realized how worked up she was getting until she was already crying. "You…you let him…"

_You let him toss me out like garbage._

"Oh, Quinnie, baby." Judy was out of her seat and kneeling on the floor beside her daughter, tears streaming freely over her cheeks as she wrapped comforting arms around her. Quinn burrowed her head into her mother's shoulder without hesitation. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should have been stronger for you. I gave your father all the power in our marriage, and I never challenged him, even when I knew he was wrong." She eased back and gently lifted Quinn's face, tenderly wiping at her tears before tending to her own. Judy met her daughter's eyes unflinchingly. "Not a day goes by that I don't regret letting you walk out of this house, and I promise you I'm never going to be that weak person again. I'm going be the mother that you need me to be."

Quinn dragged in a shaky breath. They'd played a variation of this scene a few times before when she'd first moved back in, but while her mother had been in tears and begging forgiveness and making promises, Quinn had never allowed herself to fall apart. She hadn't even wanted her own mother to see her weak and vulnerable, and she certainly hadn't wanted to fully forgive her, because then she might drop her guard. She might start to feel safe and secure again, and having it all ripped away for a second time would be so much worse for having believed in her mother.

For that reason, Quinn couldn't bring herself to take the perfect opening that Judy Fabray had just provided. She wasn't ready to place that much trust in a woman who'd really only started acting like a mother eight months ago, so instead, she rasped, "What if," then licked her lips and swallowed heavily. "What if I…do something…to disappoint you…like before?"

Quinn was perfectly aware that her question was threaded with an undertone of guilt, and she watched her mother suck in a breath and close her eyes, almost like she was preparing for a slap—or a slushie to the face. "Oh, honey, you're not…you're not pregnant again, are you?" she whispered fearfully.

An almost hysterical laugh bubbled up, and Quinn let it escape. "No. God, no. I can promise you that is  _not_  going to be happening again."

Her mother released an audible sigh of relief and smiled thinly as she smoothed back her daughter's hair. "Well, even if it does, we'd get through it together. You're my little girl, Quinnie, and I love you."

Quinn let her own eyes fall closed and exhaled softly. "I love you, too, Mom." But she wasn't ready to test the veracity of her mother's promises. Not today.

Maybe not ever.

 

 

•••

Two hours later, Quinn pulled up to the Berry house and got out of her car, still humming along to the last song on the radio. Puckerman had talked Santana (whose parents were out of town) into hosting an impromptu party later that night to celebrate the win at Regionals, but until then, Quinn had about eight hours of quality time with Rachel to look forward to. Her footsteps hesitated when she noticed both of the Berry men's cars in the garage. If both of Rachel's dads were still home…

_Well, this just sucks._

Quinn took a deep breath and slowly released it before she squared her shoulders and headed for the door. She raised her hand to press the bell, but the door swung open before her finger ever made contact with the button, and Leroy Berry filled the doorframe.

"Good morning, Quinn."

"Um…hi, Leroy."

His mouth quirked up, and he stepped aside to let her enter. "Rachel's just in the living room," he said, and she glanced up at him briefly with a questioning look. He swept his hand out and gestured for her to go in, and she suddenly felt like she was being shown to the gallows.

Inside, Rachel was perched on the edge of sofa wearing that wide-eyed, slightly crazed look that she usually got when she was plotting something in glee—or when she got  _busted_  for plotting something in glee—and Quinn tensed. Hiram was sitting on the wingback chair with his arms crossed.

She forced a cheerful smile. "Hello, Hiram."

"Quinn."

_Uh oh._

Leroy made his way into the room and settled his large body onto the tiny ottoman in front of his husband and looked at her. Quinn licked her lips nervously. "Should I go back to calling you Dr. Berry and Mr. Berry?" she asked quietly.

Leroy's little grin curled a bit more. "Well, she has to get points for being more intuitive than Finn."

On the sofa, Rachel frowned and crossed her arms. "Really, Finn is  _not_ that bad," she defended weakly.

"Yes he is," Quinn and Leroy chorused together. Quinn flushed, and Leroy and Hiram both laughed.

"Have a seat, Quinn," Hiram finally said with a smile. "We just want to get to know our daughter's girlfriend  _properly_ ," he stressed with a pointed look at Rachel.

"I said I was sorry," she mumbled under her breath, and Quinn felt most of her tension recede as she sank down next to Rachel, dipping her head to catch Rachel's eyes. Rachel offered her a sheepish smile and a little shrug. "Obviously, my fathers are aware that we are more than friends."

"Yeah, I figured."

"So, I'm sure you understand that we have concerns, Quinn," Leroy told her gently, and she nodded, feeling the weight of his eyes on her. She'd been happy to discover how well she got along with Leroy after she'd jumped through the appropriate hoops during their first two awkward meetings. He was intelligent and kind with a playful sense of humor, but he wasn't a pushover, and he was very protective of Rachel. Quinn hadn't spent quite as much time with Hiram yet because of his schedule at the hospital, but she'd seen enough to know that the man was gentle and warm (and she imagined that he had an excellent beside manner) and he clearly liked to fuss over his family, but he could also go off on some seriously long-winded rants—kind of like his daughter. Looking at them both now, she was kind of terrified that she'd just lost all the ground she'd been so proud of gaining.

Drawing in a breath, she looked at Rachel and purposely reached over to lift her hand from her lap, entwine their fingers together, and bring their joined hands back to rest on her own lap. The girl smiled at her softly. Quinn called upon her familiar confidence and turned back to the Berry men. "First, I'd like to apologize for not making my feelings for Rachel perfectly clear from the very beginning. The only explanation I can offer you is that I was completely and utterly overwhelmed by…well, by everything. I wasn't supposed to be gay—it just isn't something that happens to a Fabray. Or if it does, you'd better learn to ignore it, because it doesn't fit the perfect image that my father wanted to project. But some things just can't be ignored. I'm in love with you daughter," she glanced tenderly at the girl beside her to see Rachel's eyes glistening with moisture. "Very much so," she added softly before turning back to the girl's fathers, "and I promise you that I'll treat her with all the care and respect that she deserves. I'll abide by whatever rules you set if you'll allow me the honor of dating her."

"Well," Leroy cleared his throat and glanced back at his husband, "I think that just about covers everything."

Hiram nodded enthusiastically, staring at Quinn in adoration with his right hand pressed over his heart. "Oh, sweetheart, this one is defiantly a keeper." He bounced up from the chair and extended a hand her. "You have our permission, Quinn."

She grinned up at him and said, "thank you," as she took his offered hand, intending to give it a firm shake, but he turned her palm over and pressed a gallant kiss to the back of her hand, then cupped it between his own and gave it an affectionate pat.

"But no more sleepovers."

"Dad," Rachel squeaked.

Quinn paled and took her hand back. "Ah…y-yes, sir."

He nodded in satisfaction, and Leroy chuckled and shook his head at his husband. "Don't worry, Quinn. You're still welcome to hang out here anytime, day or night, just as long as the door stays open."

"Door open," she repeated, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. "Got it."

"I still think you're both being very unreasonable about that," Rachel pouted. "I'm not a little girl anymore."

"But you're  _our_ little girl, Rae, and you're only sixteen. I'm sure Quinn understands," Leroy finished.

"Of course, I do." As much as she wanted to be alone with her girlfriend, she respected the Berrys far too much to deflower their daughter right under their noses.

"So what are you two planning to do today?" Leroy asked with a smile, attempting to change the subject.

Quinn opened her mouth to answer, but Rachel beat her to it. "Well, I thought we might take a nice drive to the local Econo Lodge, rent a room and have marathon sex all afternoon to celebrate our win at Regionals," she drawled with a straight face, and Quinn's mouth fell open in shock.

"Rachel," she hissed.

Leroy grinned down at her. "Please, we all know you'd never settle for less than a Hampton. And I think Quinn's probably classy enough to spring for the Wingate," he nodded to her, but she couldn't do anything except gape up at him. She was ninety-nine percent certain he was just joking.

"Don't give them ideas, Lee," Hiram scolded with a light slap on his husband's shoulder. He pointed at Rachel. "No hotels."

Rachel sighed dramatically, "Fine. I suppose we'll have to settle for going to a movie."

Quinn felt a giggle bubble up inside that she couldn't contain. When Rachel shot her an amused look, she pressed her fingers to her lips and tried to stifle her laughter, but it was an impossible task. She'd basically just been told to keep it in her pants by her girlfriend's fathers.  _Her_ —Quinn Fabray, former president of the Celibacy Club!

The funniest part—she really,  _really_  wanted to rent that hotel room.

•••

"So, don't you think you laid it on a little thick back there?" Rachel asked with grin as Quinn drove them to the movie theater.

"What are you talking about?" Quinn spared a brief glance in her direction as she carefully navigated the traffic.

Rachel placed a hand over her heart and fluttered her lashes, even though Quinn couldn't fully appreciate the effect with her attention diverted. "I  _promise_ I'll treat her with all the  _care_  and  _respect_  that she deserves," she breathed out in a fair imitation of Quinn's whispery voice. "I'll abide by all of your rules if you allow me the honor of dating your daughter." Quinn shot her a dirty look, and Rachel giggled.

"I meant that, Rachel."

"I have no doubt the sentiment was sincere, but I also know you, sweetheart—so I know  _that_  was the Quinn who convinced Coach Sylvester to let her back on the cheerios. The one who talked her way out of detention with Mrs. Paulson freshman year even though she was caught red-handed texting in class." Quinn grinned and nodded as she proudly recalled the incident. Rachel rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "That was you turning on your considerable charm and saying all the right things to get your way."

Quinn's smile dimmed and her grip on the steering wheel tightened. "So maybe I did say everything your dads wanted to hear—what's so wrong with that?" She pulled into the parking lot and took the first space she found, cutting the engine and turning to face Rachel. "I  _do_  love you, and I  _do_  respect you, and I _will do_ whatever it takes to not piss off your parents and have them kick me to the curb."

Rachel unbuckled her seatbelt, leaned over and cupped the back of Quinn's neck, bringing her mouth down for a slow, meaningful kiss. "I love you, too, and I  _respect_ you, and I  _like_ that you'll do whatever it takes to get what you want. It's a trait that we share, in case you haven't noticed. But in case you haven't noticed," she repeated with a smile, "my dads already like you. All you really need to do to make them happy is make  _me_  happy." She brushed another kiss across Quinn's lips, whispering, "And you do. So happy."

Quinn bit back a moan and slanted her mouth more forcefully over Rachel's as she slipped her left hand down to run along the inside of a denim covered thigh. Rachel hazily wondered why the hell she'd chosen to wear jeans today, because those long, skillful fingers felt so much better on her bare skin. She burrowed her own fingers into Quinn's hair and tried to deepen the kiss. On a groan, Quinn jerked her mouth away and sat back against her seat with her eyes closed. "God, you make me so careless," she muttered.

Rachel exhaled slowly, shifting in her own seat and willing her body to behave. She stared out the front window, noticing for the first time that Quinn had parked as far away from the theater as possible. "Don't worry, no one saw," Rachel assured her, pushing down the sadness she felt at having to hide.

A humorless chuckle fell from those pretty, pink lips. "Actually, I was thinking about the fact that I want to skip the movie, drive you to the Wingate, and have my wicked way with you."

Rachel stared at Quinn's profile, imagining some of those wicked things they could do, and she had to bite into her lip to keep from saying  _let's go._  Instead, she released a shaky breath and said, "Come on. I'll buy you a jumbo size box of Junior Mints."

The corner of Quinn's mouth quirked up. "I love Junior Mints."

"I love it when you taste like Junior Mints, so it's a win-win."

Quinn laughed, opening her eyes and rolling her head to gaze at Rachel with an affectionate smile. "You're, like, the best girlfriend, ever."

"I'm your only girlfriend ever."

Hazel eyes went soft and Quinn reached over to stroke Rachel's cheek with the back of her fingers, whispering, "Yeah, lucky me."


	30. Honorable Intentions

**Honorable Intentions**

Quinn walked toward the entrance of the movie theater with her hands shoved deeply into the back pockets of her own blue jeans to keep from touching Rachel. She hadn't been joking about wanting to just be alone with her somewhere so that they could continue to explore the physical side of their relationship. The last few weeks had been heaven and hell for her, being able to hold and kiss and touch the girl she loved was amazing, but utterly frustrating every time they had to stop.

She'd thought having Rachel's dads find out about them would be a relief, but she hadn't fully considered the fact that their little make-out sessions in Rachel's bedroom would end up getting curtailed—not that they'd really gone past under-the-shirt and over-the-bra. Okay, maybe it was more like under-the-shirt and  _under-_ the-bra, but the shirts hadn't come off yet—just been hiked up a little, or at least Rachel's had been. Quinn was still hyper-aware of her stretch marks and the extra five pounds that she just couldn't seem to get rid of. Rachel constantly told her that she was crazy and that her body was perfect, but Quinn had pushed another  _person_  out of it—she was never going to look the way she used to.

Rachel, on the other hand, looked amazing—all tan skin and toned little belly and breasts that fit perfectly into Quinn's hands (and she might have hiked Rachel's shirt up high enough to catch a little glimpse of them a time or two—or maybe three.) Quinn could build a shrine to Rachel's legs, which were blessedly on display in short little skirts and dresses more often than not. Rachel still had a fondness for knee socks, but Quinn had managed to convince her to leave the colored tights in the bottom of her drawer, so those silky thighs were usually left bare these days and wonderfully accessible, and Rachel totally appreciated Quinn's cheerios uniform for the same reason.

Below-the-waist and above-the-thigh was still off limits, but backsides were considered fair game. Needless to say, they'd been doing a lot of groping and a fair amount of grinding, but so far, whenever they started to get a little too worked up, one of them would manage to find a measure of sanity and slow things back down. Surprisingly, Rachel had been right about the whole not trusting herself thing, because Quinn was typically the one to stop them. It probably had a little something to do with her lingering body image issues, but mostly, she was extremely conscious that Rachel was still a virgin and the possibility of being her first was a really big deal for Quinn. She didn't want to screw it up.

She was still feeling uncomfortably aroused from their little hit and run in the car just now, and sitting in a movie theater where she wouldn't be able to do much more than hold Rachel's hand was going to be torture. They were supposed to be curled up together on Rachel's bed, happily testing some more of those physical boundaries, but for obvious reasons, that wasn't happening anytime soon. They'd be lucky to get in some chaste cuddling. Leroy and Hiram would probably take turns interrupting them every fifteen minutes for the rest of their high school careers—or at least for the next few weeks. Surely, the men enjoyed their romantic outings too much to permanently forgo their own relationship in favor of policing the girls.

_Oh, please don't let it be permanent._

Of course, the other option would be inviting Rachel to  _her_  house. Her mom  _had_ suggested it, and Quinn wasn't planning to come out to her in the near future, so for all intents and purposes, Rachel Berry would just be Quinn's new, very best friend. Rachel would probably hate it of course, but she'd promised not to push the issue of full disclosure. Quinn's bedroom door had a lock, and on the rare occasion her mother encroached into her personal space, she always knocked. It could totally work.

Quinn really needed to stop thinking about sneaking around with her girlfriend because it was only getting her hotter.

When they got to the door, Quinn stepped in front of Rachel and grabbed the handle, holding it open for her smiling girlfriend. There were a few people in line at the box office, and Quinn glanced up at the marquee, double checking the times. Since coming to the movies had been kind of a last minute decision, they hadn't had a lot of choices on what to see that they could both agree on, so they settled for  _Limitless._ She slapped the money on the counter, beating Rachel to the punch, and when she opened her mouth to argue, Quinn quieted her with a look—not the intimidating head-bitch look, but the  _baby-please-let-me-do-this-or-I'll-be-so_ - _sad_  look. She'd discovered pretty early on that it was far more effective on Rachel than intimidation ever had been. She did, however, let her girlfriend buy her some Junior Mints.

They sat in the back row, which was more crowded than she preferred, and they discretely held hands. It was probably a good thing that they couldn't try to sneak in anything more stimulating, or Quinn might have just spontaneously combusted from sexual frustration. As the theater emptied, they stayed and watched the other people file out, taking turns making up little stories about some of them—that couple was on their first and last date, those girls were going to beauty school and had a final on hairspray this morning, that man was secretly a flasher in his spare time. Quinn had discovered that Rachel could have a wicked sense of humor sometimes, and it just made Quinn love her all the more. As was their habit, they shared a brief (chocolate-minty) kiss once the theater was empty before heading out.

As they were walking back through the parking lot, Quinn turned her phone back on and saw that she had a few texts from Santana poking fun at her behavior on the bus last night and threatening her with public humiliation if she even thought about skipping out on the party, one text from Brittany gushing about the super fun time they were all going to have tonight, and a voicemail message that she decided to check since her mom and Rachel were the only ones who actually used her voicemail instead of texting. "It's my mom," she said by way of an apology to Rachel when she glanced over at Quinn. She fell back a few steps as they neared the car, taking the opportunity to admire Rachel's ass in those jeans, but as she listened to her mother's message, her forward motion came to a stop.

_'Quinnie, honey, it's me. I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to Columbus to visit my friend Patty—you remember her, don't you? She's the one whose husband passed away last year. I decided to call her after you left this morning and when I mentioned that you were spending the day with your friend, she told me that I should come visit her this afternoon. So that's what I'm doing. I know you said you'd probably spend the night at the Berrys' house, but just in case, I'll probably be home very late tonight. Have fun dear. Call me if you need to.'_

Her house was empty. Right now. God was really testing her today.

Rachel noticed immediately when Quinn stopped walking and was now looking at her with worry etched on her face. "What's wrong? Is your mom okay?"

"She's in Columbus," she answered carefully. "She went to visit a friend of hers and she won't be home until late tonight." Quinn slipped the phone into her pocket and watched Rachel's eyes go dark, and damn if she didn't lick her lips too.

Rachel took a few shaky breaths, one of them ending in a soft, "Oh," before she turned and walked the remaining ten feet to Quinn's car and crawled inside without another word. Quinn sighed in mild disappointment and followed Rachel, sliding into the driver's seat and glancing over to see Rachel with her own phone out. Her fingers were flying over the keys.

"Who are you texting?" Quinn asked with a frown.

Rachel didn't answer at first—just finished typing and hit send. Then she looked up with a trembling smile. "I just informed daddy that your mother requested that you invite me to your house, and that we are heading over there for awhile before going to Santana's."

Quinn's hands tightened on her steering wheel and she sucked in a harsh breath. "Are you being serious right now?" she asked uncertainly.

"Perfectly. I want to be alone with you, Quinn," she insisted quietly despite the slight tremor in her voice.

"So you lied to your fathers?"

A tiny smile curled Rachel's mouth. "It isn't exactly a lie. Your mother did extend the invitation," Rachel reasoned, "but if you'd prefer to go back to my house and hang out with my suddenly over-attentive fathers rather than be alone with me, then by all means, drive on," she finished with a wave toward the front window.

Quinn most definitely would  _not_  prefer that, but she wasn't entirely certain what Rachel had in mind, and her own mind had crashed firmly into the gutter. She turned to Rachel and took her hand. "Rach, I know we've kind of been joking around today about…about…you know," she stammered with a blush.

"Having sex," Rachel supplied easily.

"Yeah," Quinn nodded. She might be a little more comfortable  _thinking_  about sex, but talking about it was still a bit difficult at times. "But, I mean…I don't expect…we wouldn't have to…your dads  _just_ gave us  _the talk_  today…and…"

Rachel laughed softly and shook her head, leaning over to place a chaste kiss to the corner of Quinn's mouth. "You're so adorable when you stutter, sweetheart, but you really don't need to be so nervous. I only want to celebrate the momentous occurrences of yesterday in private. We really haven't been alone together since you told me that you love me—unless you count being in this car—so yeah, an empty house with no parents and no interruptions sounds like heaven right about now."

"And when you say  _celebrate_ ," she trailed off, still wanting to clarify.

"I'm not propositioning you for sex, Quinn," Rachel responded wryly. "I just want a few hours alone with you, and your lips, and these hands," she lifted their joined ones and pressed a quick kiss to Quinn's knuckle, "and possibly certain other parts of you that I've recently had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with."

Quinn drew in a breath and studied Rachel, seeing the opportunity being presented to her and wondering why the hell she was even hesitating. "Well, when you put it that way—how can I refuse?" Reluctantly letting go of Rachel's hand, she started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, shooting anxious, sidelong glances at Rachel the entire drive just in case she might change her mind.

It was completely ridiculous that she should be so nervous about inviting Rachel into her house. The feeling was entirely out of character for her. She'd stood up for the first time in front of her entire church at eight years of age and sang  _Silent Night_  at Christmas Eve mass without a single butterfly. She'd executed a perfect back handspring with a full twist at twelve years old to nail her try out for the junior cheerios without even breaking a sweat. She'd faced down the infamous Sue Sylvester at cheerleading camp the summer before freshman year and boldly informed the woman that she was looking at her next head cheerleader, and then she'd proceeded to walk through the doors of William McKinley High School as the youngest captain ever.

So being alone with Rachel in her bedroom with no parents around should be cake.

"Wow—it's bigger than I thought it would be," Rachel murmured, eyeing the house when Quinn pulled into her driveway.

"That's what she said," Quinn joked. "Seriously, the mortgage was already paid off and Mom got the house in the divorce settlement, but if it wasn't for the alimony and child support, we'd have been out of here already."

Rachel nodded, but didn't comment. They'd had discussions about Quinn's mother in the past, and Rachel always straddled the line between being angry at the woman for staying silent and allowing Russell Fabray to disown Quinn, and respecting her for finally standing up to him and starting over with her life and her daughter.

Once inside, she led Rachel through the foyer and watched her begin to not so discretely glance around at the cold white walls and pretentious décor. The Fabray house was nothing like Rachel's. It was too big, too ostentatious, and far too stuffy. Her mom had tried to add a little warmth to the place, but the woman still had a certain expensive, exclusive taste that made it feel more like an upscale hotel lobby than a home. She sighed, "Welcome to the mausoleum. You can probably see why I was such an uptight bitch for so long."

Rachel's laughter filled the house, and she turned and slipped her arms around Quinn's hips, leaning into her. "You're recovering nicely, though."

"I have excellent motivation," she murmured, dropping a kiss on Rachel's cheek before pressing her own cheek against the girl's temple. "You like me sweet."

"I just like you," Rachel whispered.

"Only like?" Quinn purred, dipping her hands into Rachel's back pockets and pulling her closer.

"Mmm. Love. I love you."

_Yeah, never gonna hear that enough._

"Love you, too, baby," she breathed.

Rachel was tucked so perfectly into her body, but still not close enough for Quinn's taste, so she kissed that tempting mouth and immediately felt the flickering embers of her arousal spark back to life. This whole being alone in an empty house could be dangerous. Pulling away on a groan, she grudgingly released all but one of Rachel's hands and took a step back, noticing that her girlfriend looked a little put out by the sudden distance.

"So, what are you in the mood for?" Quinn asked, swinging Rachel's hand back and forth and reaching for a levity that she wasn't necessarily feeling. "We could play a board game, or sit and talk, or watch television, or a DVD—although my paltry little collection pales in comparison to yours. Or…ah…there's the hot tub," she added timidly. "I'm sure I have a spare bathing suit around somewhere."

Actually, Quinn had a few skimpy little bikinis that she wouldn't mind getting Rachel into.

_And then out of._

Rachel bit into her lower lip to contain a grin, and then gave up and asked, "Is that the  _infamous_  hot tub?"

Quinn felt her face flush. "Um…yeah. Guess that's not the best idea, huh?"

Rachel giggled and tugged Quinn closer again. "Maybe later. Why don't you just give me a tour, and then we'll see where we end up."

_Well, hell, she has to know we're going to end up in my bedroom._

"I thought you weren't planning to proposition me," she teased with fluttering eyelashes.

Rachel rolled her eyes and tugged on Quinn's hand. "Come on, Fabray. Show me around this pretentious palace of yours."

"Yes, dear."

Quinn led Rachel around the downstairs first, starting with the living room. Rachel spent a few moments studying the sparse pictures of a younger Quinn, her sister, and her mother. Russell Fabray was conspicuously absent, his pictures victims to the initial post-separation purge. Quinn hadn't really been surprised that her mom had so easily invited Rachel to call her Judy, because being called Mrs. Fabray just reminded her of her failed marriage, even though she was a bit too attached to the automatic respect that came with the name to ever actually give it up

Rachel picked up the only picture of just her and her older sister together, taken at their mother's insistence two years ago just after Regan's college graduation and before her wedding. "Wow, you really look a lot like your sister," she commented.

"But I'm not nearly as evil as she is."

"Quinn!" Rachel admonished.

She shrugged. "She's daddy's little girl." Rachel gave her a sympathetic nod. Quinn didn't want to talk about her perfect sister who had been happy to persecute her for her teenaged pregnancy just like her father had. She'd already told Rachel more than enough about Regan, and how close they  _hadn't_  been when they were younger.

Quinn led Rachel into the kitchen and asked if she wanted anything to eat or drink. Rachel accepted a vitamin water and proceeded to play with the bottle as Quinn showed her the family room, the sun porch, and yes, the hot tub. She skipped the den because she thought that the mounted dear heads and bear skinned rug might really freak Rachel out. She had no clue why her mother hadn't just tossed everything in there and turned it into a craft room or something—it was the only room in the house that still showed Russell's influence.

They finally stopped in front of the staircase, and Quinn glanced up the stairs, and then back at Rachel. "Well, that just leaves…uh…upstairs."

"Yes, Quinn. I'd worked that out," she teased with a grin.

Chuckling at her own frayed nerves, she took a breath and led Rachel up, bypassing the guestroom, her mom's bedroom, and her sister's old lair—uh…room—to push open the door of her own bedroom. She stepped inside and turned to look at Rachel with a tight smile. "So, this is it." Rachel's eyes moved over the gray carpet and barren pink walls, and Quinn sighed, "I'd like to tell you that I just haven't bothered to re-personalize the room after I moved back in, but it's pretty much always looked like this."

"Well, it's certainly…neat and tidy," Rachel praised, moving further into the room and pausing in front of the mirror over Quinn's dresser. She set the bottled water down and leaned forward to look at the photographs tacked into the border. There was a old one of Quinn with her mother that had been taken at the beginning of Freshman year after Quinn had been named cheerio captain, another with Brittany and Santana in their uniforms, and—of course Rachel would focus on that last photo on the mirror, actually reaching up to pluck it down for a closer look.

It was a color copy of last year's glee club yearbook picture—Quinn had used what had been left of her influence at McKinley to claim one of the proofs for her own—folded unevenly to crop out everyone but Mercedes bending slightly forward, Quinn standing behind her and beside Finn—her early pregnancy disguised by her position—and Rachel in front of them in the short, yellow plaid skirt that she'd been wearing that day. The way the photo had been stuck in the top of the mirror had effectively beheaded Finn and left only the girls as the focus of the picture.

At the time, Quinn had somehow managed to convince herself that she'd wanted a copy because she'd been the one to actually get the picture in the yearbook to begin with—even if no one would ever know that except for her and Coach Sylvester—and she'd told herself that she was sticking it on the mirror because the club had been there for her through the worst time of her life. When she'd folded it over in that particular place, it was because Mercedes had been her savior in the last few months of her pregnancy, and while she knew exactly why she'd hidden Finn, she'd never really bothered to ask herself why she hadn't folded over the other side to remove Rachel when she was supposed to hate the girl. Of course, now she realized that she'd liked having that photo tacked on her mirror to look at  _because_  Rachel was in it.

"We need to get you a more recent photograph," Rachel murmured with sparkling eyes.

Quinn smiled. "I'm kind of fond of that one, though."

Rachel nodded, and then reverently placed the photo back onto the mirror, and Quinn couldn't resist. She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around her girlfriend's waist from behind. Rachel crossed her arms over Quinn's and leaned into her, allowing her to press her lips to Rachel's cheek.

"Mmm…that's nice," Rachel murmured, tipping her head back and exposing more of her throat for Quinn to taste. She took full advantage, suckling on her pulse point as her hands slowly drifted up Rachel's torso—one settling over a toned belly and the other continuing higher until a palm molded to the curve of a breast. Rachel moaned and reached up to tangle her fingers into blonde hair. "I'm…kind of fond…of you…doing…that," she confessed breathily, her chest rising and falling more noticeably with every word as Quinn continued to nip and lick at soft, tanned skin. "Oh God, Quinn…"

Quinn felt a fresh wave of arousal at the sound of that amazing voice moaning her name. She just couldn't ever get enough of hearing it—of reducing Rachel to husky moans and monosyllabic words like  _oh, yes, Quinn, God, more, please_.

Rachel shifted impatiently against her, pressing her firm backside into Quinn's crotch and pulling a moan from Quinn that vibrated against Rachel's throat. She knew that if she didn't stop right now, she'd end up embarrassing herself by grinding against her girlfriend's ass. Dragging in a labored breath through her nose, she reached up to gently pry the hand from her hair and forced herself to take a step back. Rachel let out a frustrated little growl at the sudden loss of contact, and she spun around to tug Quinn's head down and into a passionate kiss.

Quinn's traitorous arms looped around Rachel's waist and pulled her closer again. Her knees felt weak, her heart was thundering, she could feel her nipples straining against her bra—and God, she knew Rachel could feel them too because she could feel Rachel's—and the throbbing between her legs was becoming impossible to ignore. Tearing her mouth away with a gasp, Quinn managed to pant out, "we need to slow down."

Rachel groaned and dropped her forehead onto Quinn's shoulder as she struggled to catch her breath. "Damn you and your honorable intentions," she muttered in a thin attempt at humor.

Quinn hissed out a breath. "Believe me, baby, all I really want to do right now is lay you down on my bed, take off all your clothes, and touch every inch of your body, but I don't think you're ready for that yet."

Rachel's head lifted and dark, smoldering eyes challenged Quinn's willpower. "Are  _you_  ready, Quinn?" she asked thickly. "If…if you didn't have to worry about  _me_ …would you want to take the next step?"

Quinn considered her answer—really considered it. Right now, standing there with Rachel in her arms and feeling more aroused than she'd ever been in her life, Quinn would say  _hell yes_ she was ready. There wasn't anything she wanted more than to make love to her girlfriend. If she took a step back from her immediate need—which was really hard at the moment—would she still feel the same? Without any regrets?

"I…I think so," she whispered, feeling Rachel's arms tighten around her at the admission. "I'm so in love with you, Rach. And…when we're together…I just…I feel like I'm finally who I'm supposed to be, and I'm not afraid to…to get… _closer_  to you…because you've already  _seen_  me…all of me…and you're still here."

Rachel traced her fingers over Quinn's cheek. "I'll always be here," she promised, and then her soft smile turned a little wicked, "and I haven't seen  _all_  of you yet, but I'd like to."

Quinn chuckled and gave Rachel a little squeeze. "You will…when we're both ready."

Rachel shook her head and sighed. "You can be delightfully obtuse at times, Quinn."

Quinn furrowed her brows, but Rachel didn't elaborate, at least not verbally. She took a step back and began to unfasten the buttons of her pink blouse. By the time Quinn fully registered what was happening, Rachel only had two buttons left and her lacy white bra was peaking out from between the edges of the gaping fabric. Her hands shot up and gripped the shirt, holding it closed. "What are you doing?" she asked in a panic.

"I thought that was obvious," Rachel responded with an amused smile.

"Rachel, I didn't say those things to try to get into your pants," she hissed. She never wanted to coerce her girlfriend into anything, or make her feel pressured.

Rachel took Quinn's hands and carefully pried them away from her blouse. "I could point out that you're actually getting into my shirt, not my pants, but I'm sensing you'd fail to find the humor in that just now."

Quinn closed her eyes and took a deep breath before muttering, "You'd be sensing right."

"Quinn, I'm ready for more," and hazel eyes flew open at the admission. "Maybe not…total intimacy right this second, but more than we've been doing. I thought that  _you_  weren't ready, because you always stop me whenever I try to see more of you than just the parts exposed by your cheerio's uniform."

Quinn sucked her lower lip between her teeth and focused her gaze over Rachel's shoulder. "But you know why I'm nervous about that, Rach."

"I do, and I won't tell you again that you're crazy—even though you totally are because you're a goddess," and Quinn couldn't help smiling at that, "but it's highly unfair that you've been sneaking peaks at me when you've yet to reciprocate."

"And yet  _you're_  the one stripping," Quinn pointed out.

Rachel shrugged, "I thought I'd ease you into it."

"Are you sure?" Quinn asked quietly, studying Rachel's face for any sign of hesitation, but Rachel didn't hesitate or drop her gaze or even blush. She kept her eyes locked on Quinn's and undid the last two buttons of her shirt, swiftly shrugging it off her shoulders and letting it drop to the floor.

Quinn sucked in a breath at the sight before her. The little glimpses she'd caught of Rachel's body up until that moment had been nothing compared to an unimpeded view. Her eyes had drifted a time or two when the girls had been changing for glee numbers, but being in deep denial at the time, Quinn hadn't really allowed herself the pleasure of looking. Now, she was struck momentarily dumb by the expanse of smooth, tan skin and enticing curves on display. The lacy little bra really did nothing to disguise Rachel's breasts—rigid nipples poked against the fabric and the generous swells practically spilled out from the cups. When Quinn failed to say anything or move or maybe even breathe, Rachel stepped back into her arms and kissed her again.

Quinn's hands landed on a naked back and found nothing but hot skin. It wasn't anything that she hadn't done before, albeit underneath the barrier of Rachel's shirt, but somehow, knowing that her girlfriend was (willingly) topless and pressed against her made it so much better. Giving into desire, she spun the girl around and steadily backed her toward the bed, and she felt Rachel smile against her lips. When Rachel's knees hit the frame, Quinn let her go just long enough for them both to resettle onto the mattress with Rachel on her back and Quinn hovering over her.

She traced a reverent hand down Rachel's throat and over her chest, trailing over her bra-clad breasts and making her arch up and hiss out a ragged breath before stroking along her ribs and belly. There was something decidedly erotic about seeing her pale hand tracing patterns on that flawless dusky flesh. "God, you're gorgeous," Quinn murmured before dropping down to capture Rachel's lower lip, kissing her sensuously as her hand curled over a breast and her thumbs grazed the lace-covered nipple.

Rachel moaned against her lips, and Quinn smiled before proceeding to kiss across her jaw, down her throat and over her chest. Her tongue snuck out to taste the swell of the breast not currently filling her palm.

"God…Quinn…please," Rachel moaned, twisting her hands into Quinn's hair and trying to force more contact.

"Tell me what you want," she husked, because no matter how much she wanted that bra to come off, she wouldn't do anything unless Rachel specifically told her to.

Rachel groaned, shifting restlessly underneath Quinn and driving her crazy in the process. "Off…take it off," Rachel finally commanded. "I want your mouth on me."

"Oh, God, baby…I want that, too," she admitted breathlessly.

"Then stop teasing, Fabray," she growled, grabbing the hand on her breast and jerking it to her side as she pushed up on her elbows to give Quinn access to the clasp of her bra.

Quinn caught her breath at Rachel's display of forcefulness, but she didn't hesitate to take the invitation she'd been given. She unhooked the clasp with fumbling fingers and peeled the garment away, tossing it carelessly to the floor as her eyes fixated on those perfect breasts.

 _I guess her skin tone is totally natural. Or she goes tanning topless. She'd better_ _**not** _ _be doing that. And, oh my God, why am I even thinking about her lack of tan lines? Rachel's boobs! Oh. My. God._

"Quinn?"

Insecurity colored the soft inquiry, and Quinn snapped her eyes up to meet Rachel's suddenly apprehensive ones. Her deceptively overconfident girlfriend really needed her reassurance right now, and she was just gaping like a moron. "You're…perfect," she breathed reverently, tenderly running her fingers over the naked curve of Rachel's left breast and then around the stiff, dusky nipple. Rachel moaned and arched beneath her with breath coming in short little pants.

Dipping her head, Quinn pressed her lips to Rachel's right breast while her fingers continued to tease and tweak the left in a way that she knew the girl loved. Touching was familiar—but tasting…? Quinn poked out the tip of her tongue and circled the rigid peak, and Rachel's reaction was instantaneous. She came off the mattress and tangled her fingers into Quinn's hair almost painfully. "God, Quinn!"

"Mmm." She absolutely adored the way Rachel's nipple felt under her tongue, and she licked back and forth across the little nub, first with the tip, and then the flat, all the while listening to the amazing noises that Rachel was emitting. It was almost like—music.

Quinn's arousal had been steadily growing from the moment she touched Rachel. She shifted restlessly over the girl beneath her, moaning at the spike of pleasure that shot through her when her legs fell between Rachel's and her hips pressed into a knee. Her body quivered, but she did her best to ignore it, instead turning her attention to Rachel's other breast so that she could taste them both equally. Rachel had other ideas, however, and raised her knee to purposely rub her thigh against Quinn's center.

She gasped, wrenching her mouth away from Rachel's breast. Things were getting out of hand. Her hips were moving instinctively and completely without her permission, and she couldn't do anything but moan and pant against Rache's skin because her own pleasure was stealing all of her focus. "God…Rachel…I…I…need…"

_To never stop doing this..._

Rachel's hands had moved down to Quinn's waist to anchor her against every upward thrust of her leg. "It's okay, baby," she purred, borrowing Quinn's endearment and making it her own, "Just take what you need."

"R-Rachel," she stuttered, arching her back and grinding down hard. "Oh…oh…God." She could feel her stomach muscles tensing with every thrust, and she knew she was close. She opened her eyes and looked down at Rachel, with her dark, heavy lidded eyes and kiss swollen lips and messy brown hair spread out over Quinn's comforter, and that was really all it took. She'd gone too long denying her needs to hold them back now, and with a final thrust, her body shuddered into release. "Ra…chel."

Colors exploded in front of her eyes as her hips jerked and waves of pleasure washed over her. Quinn collapsed bonelessly onto the body beneath her as the tiny aftershocks of her orgasm shook her. She held onto Rachel for all she was worth as she struggled for breath while Rachel ran a soothing hand over her hair. Part of her wanted to weep with joy at the intimacy of finally experiencing an orgasm with Rachel in her arms, but a bigger part of her wanted to hide her face in shame that she'd just selfishly gotten off by humping her girlfriend's leg.  _Jesus_ , she was still wearing her damn blue jeans, which were feeling a little damp and gross right now.

"I'm so sorry," she finally whispered in mortification.

She felt Rachel's hand still against the crown of her head, and then reach down and sneak under her chin to gently lift her face up. Reluctantly, she met Rachel's eyes and saw the love shining there. "You have no reason to be sorry, Quinn. You were…so beautiful to watch," she confessed as she tucked strands of blonde hair behind Quinn's ear.

Quinn closed her eyes and smiled. Gathering up what was left of her strength, she shimmied up Rachel's half-naked body and brushed a tender kiss across her lips. "I love you so much."

"Then show me," Rachel instructed, tugging lightly at Quinn's shirt. "I mean, I just gave you an amazing orgasm, and I haven't even seen you naked yet. How fair is that?"

Quinn breathed out a silent laugh and shook her head. "Not fair at all," she murmured, pushing herself up into a kneeling position over Rachel before she hooked her fingers under the hem of her shirt and slowly began to lift the material, and when Rachel's breath caught and her eyes went impossibly darker, the stretch marks and those extra five pounds suddenly didn't matter anymore to Quinn.


	31. Surrender

**Surrender**

Rachel lost her breath at the vision before her. Quinn Fabray was kneeling over her, straddling her waist in low-rise jeans and a red lace bra, with sex-mussed hair and glistening pink lips turned up in a nervous smile. She couldn't see a single flaw on the expanse of creamy skin drawn tight across a toned, flat belly. The girl was simply…

"Perfect," came tumbling out of her mouth in an awed whisper.

Above her, Quinn chuckled as she idly stroked her fingers back and forth over Rachel's stomach. "You're not looking close enough."

Oh, she most certainly  _was_ —in fact, she couldn't look away. For as long as she could remember, she'd thought that Quinn was beautiful and had admired her body—at first in a detached, mostly objective way, and recently in a very invested,  _I-love-my-hot-girlfriend_  way—but never before had she felt such a strong desire to worship. Her eyes caressed the dips and hollows of those tempting abs (and Quinn was delusional to think that she'd lost them, or if she had, she'd clearly found them again) before rising to trace the enticing curves of her small but perfect breasts.

Rachel's own body was still thrumming with unfulfilled desire from their earlier activities. Actually, it was screaming at her in very strong language for denying it the release that it so desperately craved. She'd meant it when she'd told Quinn that she was ready for more, but she hadn't realized quite  _how_ ready and for how  _much_  more until she'd felt the incredible sensation of Quinn's mouth on her bare breasts. Every stroke of her tongue had sent spirals of pleasure twisting through Rachel's body and pushed her closer to the edge of reason. She'd felt wanton,and desperate, and the only thing that had kept her sane was the knowledge that Quinn had been reacting just as strongly.

Quinn's hips had moved restlessly against her the whole time, and Rachel doubted that Quinn was even aware of how close she'd been to her orgasm until she was helpless to stop it. Rachel had willingly forfeited her own immediate needs in favor of giving her girlfriend pleasure, and she didn't regret it, but right now her body was forcefully reminding her that it was still very unsatisfied.

_Later. We'll get to that later. Right now, I really want to touch._

So she did. Rachel pushed herself up onto an elbow and reached forward with her right hand, lightly tracing her fingers over Quinn's firm stomach and feeling the muscles jump and tremble beneath the tips. She could barely make out the faintest of silvery lines just above a pair of lean hips, but only because she was actively looking for them. She could only pray that she'd be lucky enough to look the way Quinn did after giving birth.

"I stand by my initial assessment. Any perceived imperfections that you imagine exist merely add to your overall loveliness, Quinn. You are…simply beautiful. Inside and out."

Quinn exhaled shakily and gazed down at her with watery eyes and a tremulous smile as she pressed her left hand over Rachel's where it still rested warmly on her stomach. She lovingly lifted it away from her flesh and held it between her own hands, bringing it up to her mouth and placing a soft kiss to Rachel's fingers. "You take my breath away," she murmured, rubbing a thumb across Rachel's knuckles.

Rachel swallowed thickly, "The feeling is entirely mutual."

Quinn's smile grew a little more confident, and she placed Rachel's hand over her heart, letting her feel the way it was fluttering under her touch before she let go and reached behind her back to unhook her bra. She tucked her fingers beneath the straps on her shoulders and slid the material down slowly, letting it fall onto Rachel's stomach.

Rachel caught her lower lip between her teeth and bit back the moan that threatened to escape. As enticing as their current position was in terms of the gorgeous view that it afforded her, it was far too restrictive for what she had in mind. She slowly trailed her hand down between the valley of Quinn's breasts, bypassing the tempting peaks for the moment in favor of continuing downward and outlining the girl's belly button, and she felt the little hitch of breath the action caused. She gave a playful little tug to the button of Quinn's jeans, and hazel eyes snapped to hers. "Rachel?"

She grinned up at her girlfriend and pulled her hand away entirely, tossing away the discarded bra in the process before she bent her elbows and pushed into the mattress to leverage herself up into a sitting position. Quinn hissed in surprise at the unexpected movement, and then moaned in pleasure when Rachel wrapped strong arms around her naked torso and pressed their bare breasts together. "God, you feel amazing," she murmured before nipping at Quinn's throat.

"So do you," Quinn groaned, tipping her head back in pleasure. Rachel could hear her breath coming faster and deeper, and feel her hips begin to rock again, rubbing in all the right ways. She knew it wouldn't take much for her to lose herself before she got the chance to truly appreciate her girlfriend's body, and she couldn't allow that to happen. She pulled Quinn down with her as she sank back onto the mattress, and then, summoning up her strength—and she'd taken dance since she could walk so her legs weren't just for show—she flipped them over and pinned Quinn beneath her with her own body nestled between athletic thighs. "Oh…God," Quinn gasped, bucking her hips up again and sending another bolt of pleasure zinging through Rachel.

She resisted the (very strong) urge to grind down, instead carefully shifting her body to Quinn's side, propping herself up on an elbow so that she could fully admire the gorgeous blonde, and brushing her free hand along a flat belly. She ignored Quinn's frustrated whimper at the distance she'd purposely put between them, and refused her attempts to direct Rachel's hand onto her breast. "Patience, Quinn," she teased, and silently chanted the word in her head, hoping that she could take her own advice.

"Screw patience," Quinn growled, attempting to glare at Rachel, but the effect just wasn't the same when she was half-naked and looking so thoroughly debauched.

"You had your turn," Rachel reminded her as she continued to trace slow, intricate patterns over Quinn's stomach and ribs. "This is for me."

"But you're barely even touching me," she whined, again trying to move Rachel's hand to where she most wanted it.

"Blatant lies. I'm actually touching you quite a bit." And enjoying every moment of it. Quinn's skin was so soft, and Rachel loved the way it felt beneath her fingertips—the way her body quivered with every teasing touch—and the breathy little moans that kept filling the otherwise quiet room.

"Rachel, please," she begged, "Please just touch me. Kiss me," she pleaded as she moved her own left hand up her body to cup her breast. "Do  _something_ …"

The sight of Quinn touching herself broke Rachel's restraint, and she groaned lowly. "Well, since you asked so nicely," she husked softly against Quinn's ear, causing her to moan and a shudder to race over her body.

Rachel shifted on the mattress—careful to keep her lower body angled away from the temptation of hips and thighs and all the beautiful friction they could cause—and gently removed Quinn's hand from its current position over her breast, placing it up beside her head and pressing their palms together. Rachel dropped a soft kiss to the hollow of Quinn's throat and felt the vibration of another quiet moan against her lips. Then she dipped down to swipe her tongue across one proud, rosy nipple in an experimental lick, and Quinn nearly came off the mattress with a broken cry.

Rachel closed her eyes and savored the reaction with a small moan of her own before she returned her mouth to Quinn's breast and flicked her tongue back and forth over the hardened peak, loving the contrast of textures she found. Quinn's right hand tangled into Rachel's thick hair to anchor her in place, and her own left hand drifted up to palm Quinn's right breast and gently roll the nipple between her finger and thumb.

Quinn hissed out a sharp, "yes," and began to twist her hips on the bed and rub her denim-clad thighs together. Rachel moaned into Quinn's flesh and squeezed her legs together as she tried to stave off her own building pleasure. It really wouldn't take much at all for her to climax right now—delayed gratification was a bitch—and as much as she wanted that, she wasn't quite finished with Quinn. Feeling a bit wicked, she bit gently at the nub she'd been lavishing with attention and was rewarded with an inelegant, "Fuck!"

Rachel's mouth lifted just enough for her to mumble, "language," against Quinn's nipple before she covered it again, alternately licking and suckling. She absolutely loved that she had the ability to reduce Quinn Fabray to begging and cursing.

She felt fingers fist into her hair. "God…your…tongue…Rach…el…please…I need…oh…"

Hearing the desperation in that whispery voice, Rachel blew gently over the puckered flesh, eliciting another shiver from the girl beneath her before she finally turned her attention away from her new favorite thing and gazed at her Quinn's beautiful face. Her head was tipped back in ecstasy, and her lower lip caught cruelly between her teeth. With one final kiss to the upper swell of that perfect breast, Rachel moved up her girlfriend's body. The hand in Rachel's hair went lax and Quinn looked down to watch her through passion-glazed eyes.

"What do you need?" she asked, a little surprised by the gruff quality of her own voice.

Those eyes fluttered closed and she squeezed Rachel's right hand where they were still intimately linked on the mattress. "You," she admitted on a shallow breath. "Your tongue. Your fingers. Anything… _everything_ …"

Rachel froze as she searched Quinn's face, trying to determine if the girl was really asking what she thought. Her previous confidence hit a little wall at the magnitude of such a request, and she cleared her throat nervously. "Elucidate please."

Quinn's eyes opened and she looked at Rachel incredulously, then her shoulders started to shake in silent, frustrated laughter. "Only you…could manage…big words…in the middle of…sex," she panted.

She ignored the playful jab at her vocabulary. Quinn knew perfectly well that she tended to become overly verbose whenever she was anxious. "Is that what we're doing? Having sex?" she tried to clarify.

Quinn sobered immediately. "Do you want to stop?" she asked in a small voice.

Rachel knew that even if they did stop right now, she was definitely going to need to do something about the almost painful throbbing between her legs, and it appeared as though Quinn was just as aroused. Rachel wanted to push the girl over the edge and watch her get lost in her own pleasure for the second time, and she really,  _really_  wanted to get Quinn completely naked and taste every inch of that gorgeous body.

But more than that, she wanted to make love to Quinn—to share herself completely with this girl who loved her, who understood her, who met her and matched her, who supported her and calmed her.

"No," she admitted in a whisper. "I really don't."

"Oh God, Rach," Quinn groaned, cupping the back of Rachel's neck and pulling her down into a messy, open-mouthed kiss—their tongues meeting in a desperate dance. Her hands were everywhere, nails dragging down over Rachel's back and then roaming to her breasts again. Finally breaking the kiss, she panted against Rachel's lips, "baby, please…tell me you're sure about this."

Rachel merely kissed her in response and, attempting to partially cool her ardor by conjuring up her own newly minted version of the  _mailman_ , which happened to be a very vivid visual and aural memory of Mr. Schuester rapping  _Bust A Move_ she crawled fully over Quinn's body and began to slowly slide down, peppering kisses to her breasts and belly along the way. When her lips ghosted over denim, she rocked up onto her knees and brought her hands together over the button of Quinn's jeans, pausing there as she met hooded, hazel eyes. "Are  _you_  sure?" she asked.

"So sure," Quinn whispered, her gaze meeting Rachel's without shame.

Rachel gently slipped the button free with fingers that only trembled a little, and then she carefully tugged the zipper. The brush of her hand over Quinn's crotch had the girl hissing out a series of sharp, ragged breaths as her back arched, and Rachel smiled at the force of her reaction. She began to work the material down over Quinn's hips, and giggled a little when Quinn eagerly pushed at the waistband in an attempt to speed the process. But Rachel took her time, admiring Quinn's legs as inch by glorious inch was revealed, until finally, she tossed the jeans to the floor and just took a moment to admire Quinn spread out on her comforter in nothing but a tiny pair of red, boy-cut briefs. Another surge of heat rushed through her when she noticed the tell-tale dark patch on the cotton that indicated just how affected Quinn really was by all of this.

Shyness about her body apparently forgotten, Quinn hooked her thumbs under the elastic and started to work her panties down, but Rachel hurriedly covered her hands to stop her. Quinn frowned and whimpered again, but Rachel soothed her with a tiny kiss just beneath her belly button. The scent of Quinn's arousal was stronger now, and she inhaled deeply, wanting to memorize every detail of this experience. Lifting her head, she gently pushed Quinn's hands away and replaced them with her own, curling her fingers beneath the cotton and slowly peeling the undergarment away.

_Oh, wow, she really is a goddess. I'm dating Aphrodite._

_I'm_ _**making love** _ _to Aphrodite._

Below her, Quinn's stomach shook with joyful laughter. "Wasn't Artemis the one who was into girls?"

Rachel blushed, realizing she'd said that last part out loud. "She…had a…certain following, but they should have been worshiping you," she breathed out.

Quinn moaned and reached for her, catching a hand and tugging her down. She kissed Rachel thoroughly and caressed her back until her fingertips dipped beneath the waistband of Rachel's jeans. "You're wearing too many clothes," she complained.

Rachel grinned against her girlfriend's lower lip. "Later, sweetheart. It's still  _my_  turn."

"No," she tried to protest, determinedly sliding a hand around the denim and tugging the button free before Rachel caught her wrist and stilled her. The jeans needed to stay on, because if Quinn touched her below her waist for even a moment without some barrier between them, this would all be over very quickly, and she had plans for her girlfriend. Quinn growled in displeasure at being denied, but Rachel silenced her with another kiss before she shimmied back down, raining a series of little kisses along the way. Quinn groaned and tried to stop her progress, but she wouldn't be deterred. She was fully determined to worship Quinn's body.

She paused over the breast that she'd neglected earlier, running the tip of her tongue around the nipple just to make certain that it was equally appreciated before she continued to lick a path down over Quinn's stomach until she met the patch of neatly trimmed curls at the apex of her thighs. She felt her girlfriend's breath catch and hold as the taut abdominal muscles beneath her fingertips tensed and quivered. "Breathe, sweetheart," she murmured, and heard the whoosh of air leave Quinn's lungs before she began to pant heavily.

Rachel skimmed her hands down and gently spread Quinn's legs to reveal the glistening, pink sex weeping to be touched. A tremor of apprehension flickered through her. She'd never done this before—well, other than to herself, but it wasn't exactly the same—and she didn't want to disappoint Quinn. Rachel Berry did not accept failure. Gathering up her courage, she passed a tentative finger along the outer lips, then dipped inside. Quinn gasped above her and tilted her hips up slightly. "R-Rach…"

Rachel smiled, growing a bit more confident, and she brushed the pads of her fingers through Quinn's folds, spreading the wetness she found and making Quinn moan. With a searching finger, she found the little nub she was looking for, and Quinn bucked her hips off the bed with a breathless, "Oh God." Loving the reaction, but quickly realizing that she would require a bit more stability to do what she intended, Rachel hooked her free arm across Quinn's lower stomach and hips to keep her steady as she focused her attention on the girl's clit.

The desire to taste grew stronger with every tiny circle her finger made, and Rachel dipped her head, peaking out her tongue to take an tentative lick. Quinn cried out, curling both hands into Rachel's hair to hold her in place. It wasn't what she was expecting—not that she'd ever spent an excessive amount of time contemplating what another girl's arousal would taste like, but she always imagined it might be slightly unpleasant. In reality, it was a little musky, maybe a bit salty, and completely addictive because this was  _Quinn_ …and she tasted like heat and sex and just…awesome. Moaning a little at the discovery, she flattened her tongue and ran it along the length of Quinn's sex. Those hands fisted painfully in her hair, the hips beneath her arms rocked forcefully, and the grunts and groans above her were coming louder and faster.

Rachel could feel Quinn's body quaking, and she suspected that her girlfriend was close, so she sharpened her tongue and flicked it over Quinn's clit, listening to her name being chanted while her finger pressed carefully into Quinn, sliding deep and then curling as she searched for the spot that would send her flying. There were a few awkward thrusts before she brushed it once, and even her weight on Quinn couldn't hold the girl down. Her hips jerked forward and she cried out, throwing Rachel off her rhythm. Rachel growled a little when her tongue slipped, but she stubbornly refocused her ministrations. When her finger curled again, rubbing that perfect spot inside, Quinn came apart—inner walls squeezing Rachel's fingers and the sweet flavor of release exploding into her mouth.

Rachel groaned at the sensations and clenched her thighs together, surprised when she felt her own body ripple with unexpected pleasure. It wasn't the strongest orgasm that she'd ever experienced—just pleasant little tremors radiating out from her clit—but it still took her breath away, or maybe it was still having her mouth filled with Quinn that left her breathless. Taking one last little taste to satisfy herself as well as her girlfriend, Rachel crawled up and gathered Quinn into her arms, maneuvering them so that they were both laying on their sides, facing one another with their legs tangled together.

Quinn whimpered and snuggled deeper into Rachel's arms, still trembling from the aftereffects of her orgasm. Rachel brushed sweaty blonde locks away from Quinn's flushed face and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. Quinn sighed and burrowed her face into Rachel's throat.

"That was…I can't…you were…just…wow."

Rachel chuckled, "I can live with  _wow._  And I fully agree with your assessment."

Another little tremor worked over Quinn's body, and then she seemed to melt into Rachel. Her breathing began to even out, and Rachel wondered if she might be falling asleep. Long moments passed in which she was content to simply hold her girlfriend and bask in the afterglow of her first real sexual experience—it totally still counted even though she was technically still a virgin. Actually, she kind of liked being on the giving end of things. She didn't need reciprocation.

Really.

_I wouldn't have objected to the offer, but this is nice too._

Eventually, she felt Quinn's lips curve against her skin, and the girl finally managed to lift her head enough to look at her. The relaxed, content smile on her face made Rachel's heart sing. "Where did you learn to do those things?"

She laughed and shook her head. "Natural aptitude."

"You totally Googled it didn't you?"

"Maybe," she admitted with a little blush. Quinn knew her too well. "It never hurts to be prepared." She'd been shocked by the shear volume of information on the subject that she'd actually found on the internet and a little (okay, a lot) turned on.

Quinn's smile slowly slipped into a thoughtful frown. "You made me… _you know_ … _twice_  and you still haven't…"

Rachel's blush deepened, and she ducked her head, too embarrassed to even tease Quinn about her inability to say  _come_  or  _orgasm_  or  _climax_  or any other number of sexual euphemisms. "I sort of did," she quietly confessed.

"Oh," Quinn whispered dejectedly, her face falling even more. "But I didn't even get to," she trailed off.

Rachel saw the glimmer of unshed tears in those hazel eyes, and was quick to reassure Quinn. "You did. Trust me…you were completely responsible for my orgasm."

Quinn flushed to the tips of ears and looked away, muttering, "It's not the same." She skimmed a hand down Rachel's side and hooked a finger into the waistband of her jeans, tugging lightly with a sad little pout on her lips. "And you're  _still_  wearing too many clothes."

Rachel inhaled raggedly. Truthfully, she was already aroused again, or maybe it had never really been sated, and it did suddenly seem very inequitable that Quinn was completely naked while she remained half-dressed. Although the arrangement was highly erotic, and  _that_  realization just increased her renewed arousal exponentially.

"Allow me to rectify that," she finally said, reaching for her zipper—and if she'd just gone with that skirt today, this all would have been so much easier. Quinn's eyes flashed with fire, and she grabbed Rachel's hands, pressing forward and rolling her onto her back.

"Let me," she demanded with an almost predatory expression. Rachel felt her body heat at Quinn's sudden display of power, and she allowed her arms to fall limply to the mattress as she watched Quinn, in all her natural glory, shimmy down and straddle her calves, leaning forward to finish undoing her jeans. In direct contrast to Rachel's slow and patient style, Quinn chose the quick and dirty approach, jerking both the jeans and her plain white panties down together in one swift motion, stopping only when she had to crawl off of Rachel's legs in order to finish her mission.

Nerves fluttered to life in Rachel's belly as she was fully exposed in front of Quinn for the first time. She didn't really have many issues with her body—after all, she worked out every day, monitored her diet, and never overindulged, so she knew that she looked good—and she'd changed in front of people hundreds of times in gym class or in the dressing rooms of the many community productions that she'd participated in, but she'd never been completely naked in front of someone, and it had never been in the midst of the ultimate intimacy.

Quinn gazed down at her with lustful eyes, her chest rising and falling heavily with every breath. "You're beautiful," she whispered, reaching out to run a hand up over Rachel's muscled calf. "Every inch of you. I just," she broke off, biting her lip worriedly. "I want you. I want to…to make love to you…the way you did to me, but if you're not ready for that, you need to tell me. I can wait as long as you need me to."

Rachel dragged in a breath and shifted her leg beneath Quinn's touch. She knew that Quinn would stop if she asked her to, even though it would leave them both unsatisfied, and knowing that made her love her girlfriend all the more. " _I_  really can't wait, Quinn," she admitted lowly. "In fact, I'm so ready that you probably won't even need to do very much."

Quinn's eyes fluttered closed for a moment and then locked onto Rachel's in silent communion. She slowly crawled over Rachel and carefully lowered her body down. Rachel sucked in a harsh breath at the meeting of skin from breasts to toes, and her arms instinctively looped around Quinn's back and her hands settled over that magnificent ass. Their lips came together in a soft, languid kiss.

"I love you," Quinn murmured.

Rachel smiled dreamily up at her. "I love you, too."

Quinn nodded and nervously bit into her lip before saying, "I…I've never actually…done this before. And I didn't Google it. So just…promise me you'll tell me if," she paused and licked her lips nervously, "if I do something wrong…or if I…hurt you…or if you just want me to stop…for  _any_ reason."

She could see the worry swirling in those hazel eyes, and she placed a quick kiss to Quinn's mouth. "I don't anticipate any of those things happening, but I promise." She felt Quinn's tension ease a little.

Quinn kissed her again, a bit more forcefully, before breaking away and beginning her journey down Rachel's body. She paused over her breasts, lavishing equal attention on each straining nipple—and stoking the flames of Rachel's desire with every caress—and then continued lower. Quinn licked a path across her belly, nipping here and there with her teeth, and Rachel hazily watched the girl's progression as her passion built. When Quinn sank a little love bite into her right hip, she hissed out a breath and squeezed her legs together, nearly coming out of her skin at the rush of pleasure to her clit.

Quinn didn't linger where Rachel most needed her, but moved down to her legs with greedy hands and a curious tongue. Rachel could barely hear Quinn's moans of appreciation over her own harsh breath and occasional groans and whimpers. Just when she thought she might scream in frustration, Quinn finally trailed that talented mouth up the inside of her right thigh, spreading Rachel's legs wider as she worked her way higher and stopping just a breath away from her center.

"Rachel?" Quinn whispered, puffing hot air against her already over-heated sex.

She twisted her fingers into the bedspread and rolled her hips up. "Yes…yes…God, yes…please." If Quinn didn't touch her right now, she was seriously just going to do it herself.

And then all her higher thought processes came crashing to a halt, because there was only the awareness of a hot, wet tongue sliding intimately against her. The words to describe what Quinn was doing to her were just gone…out of her head…never to return. She was completely lost in sensation—the feelings so foreign, yet so achingly beautiful and intense. Her body was climbing, reaching for the peak it was so desperate to claim, and it was not at all pleased when it registered the sudden absence of Quinn's mouth.

Rachel groaned at the loss and blindly reached for her girlfriend, only to find her sliding back up and offering her the first taste of her own arousal from the chalice of her tongue—and Rachel was instantly intoxicated. She felt a hand glide down between her legs and fingers dip inside, a little uncertain and shy, to delicately search through her folds until they finally found the aching bundle of nerves that was begging to be touched. "Yes, there," she gasped against Quinn's mouth.

Quinn moaned, suckling Rachel's lower lip as her fingers rubbed tiny circles around her clit. Rachel groaned and thrust her hips up, seeking more contact. Quinn understood the silent request, and shifted her hand to slowly sink one long finger inside, testing her carefully. There was no pain—but there wasn't nearly enough pleasure—and Rachel summoned up enough mental prowess to ask for, "More." She heard Quinn hiss out a breath, and then she felt the press of a second finger inside and the glorious pressure of a thumb against her clit, and Rachel's brain took another little vacation while her body took over completely, finding a rhythm and racing for completion. The only thing she knew was Quinn—above her and inside of her. Everything she'd ever wanted or needed narrowed down into a sharp little point of building ecstasy, and she wasn't even conscious of the sounds coming out of her own mouth—or if she was even making  _any_  sound at all. The only thing she could do was close her eyes and surrender to her encroaching orgasm.

And surrender she did. Spectacularly.

Stars exploded behind her eyelids and spasms of pleasure rocked her body, winding her tight and flinging her up into the stratosphere. When she finally started to drift back down, she slowly took stock of her body—of the thunderous heartbeat pounding in her ears, the burning in her chest from the lack of oxygen, a very pleasant pulsing low in her belly and between her legs that matched her heartbeat, and a very attentive and anxious girlfriend hovering over her when she opened her eyes.

"Rachel, baby…are you…are you okay?" Quinn asked uncertainly, reaching out and swiping at the moisture on Rachel's cheek. "You…you're crying."

Was she? She really hadn't even noticed, but Quinn obviously had and now she looked to be on the verge of tears as well. Rachel shook her head and smiled, reaching up to kiss her wonderful girlfriend and still tasting herself on those pretty pink lips.

"I'm amazing," she reassured Quinn. " _You're_  amazing. Everything is just…"

"Amazing?" Quinn finished with a small grin.

"Mmm hmm," Rachel hummed, tugging Quinn back down and kissing her again, savoring that tongue that had done such magnificent things to her.

Quinn moaned and dragged her mouth away, panting slightly. "I was a little…worried," she confessed softly, and when Rachel frowned, she sighed. "You were…kind of…quiet…when you…ah," she flushed and glanced down.

"Came?" Rachel supplied with a chuckle. The girl could reduce her to a puddle of orgasmic bliss with her mouth and fingers, but she  _still_ couldn't talk about it.

Quinn nodded, "And then the tears."

"Spontaneous emotional outburst," Rachel supposed, absently stroking Quinn's naked back. "It in no way reflects negatively upon your prowess—which, by the way, is exceptional."

Quinn grinned at her. "I'm not really sure I believe that, considering how quickly your vocabulary has recovered."

"Well, it's always been very advanced," Rachel laughed, and tightening her arms around Quinn—as much as she could when her muscles still felt like jelly. "Honestly, this is nothing like I imagined my first time would be," she admitted. She'd had a detailed plan drawn out over a perfectly feasible timeline, and Quinn had blown it all to pieces with one kiss, "but it couldn't have been more perfect. I will never regret one second of this experience with you."

Quinn's breath caught, and a single tear spilled over her cheek. "I love you, Rachel Berry," she whispered before brushing a sweet kiss over her lips.

"And I love you, Quinn Fabray. And I really love this bed," she murmured drowsily, pulling Quinn down to cuddle against her. "It's very comfortable."

"Mmm, yeah…I think it's actually more comfortable right now than it ever has been in the past."

Rachel smiled, lazily combing her fingers through Quinn's hair as her eyes began to drift closed. A thought niggled at the back of her mind, and she sighed. "When do we have to be at Santana's?"

Quinn grunted, "Forget that. We're staying right here."

"As much as I'd love to do that, and I really would," Rachel lamented, "we have to at least make an appearance tonight." They were celebrating their win at Regionals, after all, and she  _was_  the glee club captain.

"I don't wanna," Quinn complained petulantly, tightening her arm around Rachel's waist. "We can have our own party."

"And then we can explain to Santana and everyone else just  _why_  we skipped out on them."

Quinn growled against her chest. "I hate it when you do that."

"Do what?" Rachel asked with a slight frown.

"Make a perfectly valid point that keeps me from getting my way."

Rachel giggled and pressed a kiss to the crown of Quinn's head. "Would it make you feel better if I were to remind you that we'll actually both need to take a shower before we leave? And I'm a very big supporter of water conservation."

Quinn lifted her head, hazel eyes sparkling with happiness. "Are you attempting to bribe me with sex?"

"I prefer to think of it as incentive based compensation."

Quinn glanced over at her clock, then turned back to Rachel with a come-hither smile. "We've got two hours, Berry. You'd better make it worth my while."


	32. Never Have I Ever

**Never Have I Ever**

Music blasted through the Lopez house, dampening the sounds of drunken laughter and wolf whistles. The members of New Directions, fresh off their first place finish at Regionals, were sprawled around in a loose circle, watching an empty beer bottle spin and stutter to a wobbly stop. Kurt dropped his red face into his hands when he saw where his spin had landed, and Santana hooted, reaching over to give his shoulder a shove, "Go get your man, Cupid."

Across from them, Puck made a face. "Aw, c'mon, I don't wanna watch two dudes kiss."

"You got off watching Brittany and Santana," Mercedes reminded him with a frown.

"But that was hot, babe," he said, leering at the girls in question.

"How do you always manage to spin Santana, anyway?" Tina asked Brittany, who was snuggled into her girlfriend's side.

Brittany shrugged, "It's a talent." Santana grinned proudly, pulling her a little closer.

"Come on, people. Less talking, more kissing. Get to it, Kurt," Quinn ordered from her chair in the corner.

"You're not even playing," Finn pointed out with a frown, unhappily staring at Quinn and her lap full of Rachel Berry.

Quinn raised an eyebrow at him. "Because  _I'm_  smart enough not to let  _my_  girlfriend play spin the bottle with all you pervs."

"She's very possessive," Rachel informed them with an adoring smile.

"And you love it, baby," she purred, dipping her head to capture Rachel's lower lip in a sensual kiss, because Quinn was apparently drunk on love and not giving a damn about the public display of affection tonight. Santana smirked to herself at the obvious change in the couple's behavior. She totally had a theory...especially after they'd shown up thirty minutes late and had been attached at the hips and lips ever since.

"Alright, free show," Puck cheered.

Rachel reluctantly pulled away from Quinn's kiss and growled, "Shut it, Puckerman," picking up an empty plastic cup from the table next to her and tossing it at his head with surprisingly good aim, considering the fact that her eyes never left Quinn's.

"Mercedes," Quinn prompted softly, and Mercedes smiled wickedly before she leaned over and smacked Puck on the back of his head.

"Damn, girl," he whined, reaching up to rub at his Mohawk. "Why you gotta be so mean?"

She rolled her eyes and ignored him, focusing on Kurt, who was still hiding his face in his hands. "Kurt, honey, you're gonna give poor Blaine a complex."

Blaine laughed a little too long and too loudly, a drunken smile on his face as he watched the antics of the people around him. Santana shook her head and snorted.

_Fuckin' lightweight._

She wasn't even sure exactly why he was here. Hummel had invited his cute little not-boyfriend to cheer him up or some stupid shit like that after his boring, preppy group had lost at Regionals—like partying with the team that beat his ass was gonna be a mood lifter. At least he was proving to be a happy drunk.

Big, goofy grin in place, he slurred, "'S'okay if Kurt doesn't wanna kiss me. I'd never p-press…ah…pres _sure_  him."

Kurt lifted his head slowly and stared at his crush. "This is  _so_ not how I imagined this happening," he muttered under his breath,

"Stop complaining and go get your gay groove on," Santana ordered, giving him another shove until he finally moved.

"I hate you," he informed her coolly.

"You love me," she corrected. "I'm a super hot bitch." She pointed over at Blaine. "Now kiss the boy."

Kurt slowly leaned over towards Blaine, who was sitting to his right. "Seeing that you're completely intoxicated right now, please know that I will in no way read anymore into this than…"

Blaine cut him off with a kiss, and thank fucking God. Hummel was making a run for Berry's title on the nervous rambling front. Huh, the guy-on-guy action was kind of hot—not as hot as her and Brittany, obviously, but then nothing was—but she felt kind of like a perv watching them, so she averted her gaze. Her girl was looking all misty-eyed and sappy, of course, because she was a total romantic at heart. Santana loved that about her. Hell, she loved everything about Brittany.

Glancing around at the rest of the group, she noticed that all the guys were hell-a squicked out and looking anywhere but at the kissing boys, Tina was staring at the floor, Mercedes was smiling softly, Berry had hearts and rainbows pouring out of her big, brown eyes, just like Brittany, and Quinn was—well, Quinn was doing what she always did, staring at Berry with that love struck look on her face.

The boys broke apart looking gob smacked, and Brittany jumped across Santana's lap and wrapped Kurt up in a hug. "Yay! I'm so happy for you. You're so cute together."

Kurt grimaced a little. "Brit-Brit, it was just a kiss. We're not," he shook his head and attempted a pinched smile. "We're just friends."

"Maybe…more," Blaine added, suddenly seeming a lot more sober than he had been a minute ago.

Kurt's eyes went wide. "R-really?"

"Okay, yeah. Nothing against you guys or anything," Puck interrupted, "but if you're gonna get all emotional and shit, take it upstairs or something."

"Uh uh. No. No upstairs," Santana threatened. "I don't want any of you losers near my bedroom or any of the bedrooms. Comprenden?"

"But San, I thought we were gonna sneak up there later and have sex again."

She closed her eyes and sighed. She  _really_  loved Brittany, but sometimes, she wished her girlfriend had a filter. "I didn't mean you, B."

"Oh, good," she leaned closer and whispered against her ear, "because I totally wanna get you out of those jeans and into my mouth."

_Jesus, this fucking party needs to be over right now._

Santana's eyes drifted shut, and she felt a shudder race through her. The things her girl could do with her mouth.  _Ay, Dios!_ She was standing in a flash and pulling Brittany up with her. "Okay, crank the tunes up, Wheels. We're done with this game," and they so were, because Blaine had already dragged Kurt off into the corner to talk, and Q and her tiny diva were still snuggled up on the chair making out, and she was damned well gonna get her mack on with her own hot girlfriend right about now. "Dance, drink, do whatever," she barked out, grabbing Brittany's hand and attempting to tug her toward the stairs, but Brittany didn't let her get very far. She pulled her to a stop with a joyful smile and wrapped her up in a hug.

"Dance with me, Santana."

"Yeah, sure, up in my room," Santana insisted. "The  _private_ kind of dance," she murmured, pressing her lips into the sweet skin of Brittany's throat.

Brittany leaned away and pulled a pouty-face, and Santana knew she was screwed—or rather, wasn't going to be anytime soon. "I want a real dance. I'll totally make it up to you later."

Santana sighed and tramped down her libido, wrapping her arms around Brittany's waist. "I'm holding you to that, Britt."

"I like when you hold me," she said with a grin, kissing Santana.

She was just getting into the kiss when the frustrating girl spun out of her arms and bounded over to the stereo, pulling her along and switching the song to something with a raunchier beat. Brittany smiled seductively and curled a finger, beckoning Santana to dance, and she was helpless to refuse.

Bodies moving together—not in the way she really wanted, but it would have to do—she sent up a silent thank you that she'd been lucky enough to get her girl back. She was so glad she'd grown a pair and finally told Brittany how she felt, because the last month had been fucking awesome.

_And awesome fucking. Or, you know, making love and all that sappy shit, too._

Going along with that whole crazy matchmaking scheme had been the best decision she'd ever made, because she'd gotten so much more out of the deal than just the pleasure of watching Quinn squirm. Although, the dialed down version of Berry was kind of nice too, but she wasn't admitting that to  _anybody_. _Ever._  The best thing she'd gotten was Brittany.

Around them, the party continued, but Santana pretty much lost track of everybody but Brittany for a nice long time. Damn, her girl could  _move_. Her girl could also dance all freaking night and never get tired. Santana had a lot of stamina, but even  _she_  couldn't keep up with Brittany, and eventually she had to take a breather. Her girlfriend just shrugged and spun over to dance with Mike and Tina.

Santana blew out an exhausted breath and dragged her hands through her hair, curling her lip in disgust when her fingers came away wet. Ew…she hated getting all gross and sweaty unless she was having sex. She walked into the kitchen for a drink—water for the moment because she was dying of thirst and alcohol just wasn't going to cut it on the re-hydration front. She needed to be in top form for later when she got down and dirty with her girl.

Guzzling half a bottle of water, she strolled back out to the party and surveyed the room. Puck, Finn, Sam and Artie had started a rowdy, trash-talking game of quarters, and thank God Puckerman actually kept the one brain cell alive that made him set up the card table instead of abusing her mama's polished oak coffee table. She would have had to give his ass another beat down if he'd put a ding in the wood like he'd done last year to the dining room table. Brittany and Asian Fusion were still getting their dance on, and Hummel's little boy toy had joined them, flailing around drunkenly. The three divas were sprawled across the couch giggling about something or other, probably Kurtsie's first big boy kiss.

The only person missing was Quinn. Huh? First time all night the girl had let Rachel out of her sight. Curious, Santana made her way over to the couch and picked up the tail end of something Mercedes was saying.

"…white boy may be fine but he's got no rhythm. You're gonna have to do something about that, sweetie."

Kurt shook his head and smiled goofily in Blaine's direction. "He's just unfortunately inebriated. He's really not that uncoordinated."

"I certainly hope not," Rachel interjected. "Otherwise, certain aspects of your future relationship may prove very unsatisfying," she finished with a smirk.

Santana's eyebrows went up in surprise at the sexual innuendo, and Mercedes's mouth dropped open before she burst into guffaws and slapped her hand down onto Rachel's leg. Kurt flushed bright red.

"We're aren't…we haven't…this isn't even a  _relationship_ , per se," he insisted. "We have an agreement to talk about it once he's sober enough to actually remember what's being discussed."

"If he even remembers agreeing to  _that_ ," Mercedes added with a giggle.

"Oh, he will, or we'll  _make_  him remember," Rachel insisted.

"Uh oh, Berry's plotting," Santana chimed in, "Run for the hills."

Rachel tipped her head back and glanced up her hostess. "Don't think for one moment that I've forgotten all the scheming that was perpetrated against Quinn and myself. Turnabout is fair play, you know," she pointed out to Kurt.

"Yeah, because our scheming was a real hardship on you, Berry. Oh wait…totally not, since you got a super hot, super popular, and way over-protective girlfriend out of the deal," Santana reminded her.

Rachel smiled. "Why, thank you, Santana. That was exactly my point."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Yeah, whatever. Where is your bitchier half, anyway?"

"I believe she mentioned making use of your facilities?"

_Can't you just say she's in the fucking bathroom like a normal person?_

She turned to head in that direction, wanting to have a word with Quinn, but she paused when she caught sight of Blaine attempting (pretty pathetically) to dirty dance with Brittany. "Hey, Hummel. Go dance with your man before he falls over and breaks something—like my girlfriend."

Kurt shook his head, but he was up and moving before Santana left the room. She made her way down the hallway just as the bathroom door was swinging open and Quinn took a step out. Grinning wickedly, she cut her off and gave her a light shove back into the bathroom.

"What the hell, Santana?"

She smirked at the scowling girl. "Okay, spill it, Q. You totally got a little taste of the Berry juice today, didn't you?"

She watched those hazel eyes widen in surprise and cheeks flush pink before Quinn dropped that patented look of cool indifference back into place. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play innocent, Fabray. You're totally rockin' the post-coital glow, and Berry did the walk of shame right through my front door," Santana pointed out.

Blonde brows drew together in confusion. "Walk of shame?"

Santana rolled her eyes. "Oh, c'mon. I'll lick Frankenteen's freakishly oversized boots if that dress Rachel's wearing didn't come right out of  _your_  closet." True that Quinn and Rachel had a few dresses that were made in a frighteningly similar style, but the one that Rachel had shown up in tonight was a tasteful black and white pattern with a nice low neckline that Quinn usually disguised with a cardigan. Rachel had worn it uncovered to reveal some pretty nice cleavage and an unencumbered view of smooth tan shoulders. Santana was one hundred percent certain she'd seen Fabray in that dress at least twice before.

Quinn shrugged. "So? I thought she'd look sexy in it, and she totally does."

Santana chuckled and leaned her hip against the sink, giving Quinn a once over and noticing again the  _just-been-fucked_ glow and the over-bright eyes. The two  _had_  been awfully hot and heavy last night, first in the green room and then on the bus, and totally incommunicado all afternoon, failing to return any of the texts that she and Brittany had sent. "What'd you do? Tear the buttons off her shirt?"

Quinn crossed her arms and glared. "No."

"Rip her skirt in your eagerness to get under it?"

Quinn shook her head and growled, "She was wearing jeans."

"Aha!" Santana crowed, pointing a finger at the girl. "You admit it."

And there was that  _are you stupid_ look that Quinn had patented. "That she borrowed my dress? Yes."

"Because you totally made her cream her pants."

Quinn's lips curled in disgust. "God, do you always have to be so vulgar?"

"I'm just telling it like it is."

"Well, you're wrong," Quinn insisted without actually meeting her eyes before she tried again to exit the bathroom.

Santana stretched her arm out in front of the girl and blocked the door. "Hmm, yeah, I don't think so—but I'll play along," she said, not buying the saintly act for a second. Quinn frowned at looked at her warily, but Santana only smiled, dropped her arm and spun around to head back to the party.

"What does that mean?" she heard called after her. "Santana!"

But she wasn't answering Quinn—just like Quinn wasn't answering her. So what if Fabray was operating under the delusion that her sex life with Berry wasn't anybody's business? She was Santana Fucking Lopez and  _everything_ was her business, especially when you were talking about the two biggest chastity queens in the school. She didn't even give a damn that Quinn had a baby last year—everyone knew that the girl had only ever put out once. And as for Berry…hell, even Puck couldn't tap that ass. So if they got down and dirty with  _each other_ already, then she was sure as hell gonna get them to admit it, and she knew a fun and easy way to do it.

_Yeah, so I still like to stir the shit and watch it explode. Fucking sue me._

_It'll be good for them to get it all out there anyway, because they_ _**still** _ _suck ass at sneaking around._

Santana blew through the living room first and into the kitchen, grabbing up fresh beer bottles, wine coolers, and a couple of waters—and surprise, surprise—there was Quinn.

"What are you up to?" she demanded.

Santana chuckled again, and started shoving bottles at her. "Just refreshing the peoples' drinks, chica. Make yourself useful and take these out there."

She snagged the bottle of Jack Daniels and some shot glasses off the counter and breezed back into the living room, not caring if Quinn was following her or not. She slammed them down (okay, yeah, gently laid them—her mama was a scary lady when she was pissed) on the coffee table, picked up the stereo remote, turned down the volume, and clapped her hands to get everybody's attention.

"Okay, gather 'round, gleeks. We are playing a game of Never Have I Ever."

"Yay!" Brittany clapped, bounding over and wrapping Santana up in her arms. "I love that game."

"I know, B." Total side benefit—a happy girlfriend meant a really, nice after-party for Santana.

"Santana!" Quinn shouted, dropping the bottles (not fucking gently at all—bitch) on the table.

"Sit down, Q," she ordered, pointing to the empty space on the couch next to Berry.

She crossed her arms and glared Santana. "Rachel and I aren't playing."

"Why not?" Rachel asked in bewilderment.

Quinn ignored her girlfriend's question and continued to stare Santana down. "I have to drive her home, Santana, and her dads will  _kill_  me if she comes home drunk. She's already had too much."

Rachel frowned up at Quinn and muttered, "I only had one glass."

Santana flung a hand in Rachel's direction. "See. Berry's no wuss."

Quinn sighed and finally turned to her girlfriend, sinking down next to her. "Rach, I  _really_  don't think we should play this game."

Finn dropped into the chair he'd dragged in from the kitchen and placed next to the couch, and therefore, next to Rachel. "She's her own person, Quinn. You can't just order her around," he accused.

"Shut up, Finn," she growled, turning her glare on him. The whole territorial thing was getting really old, but Quinn was never going to change and Santana kind of suspected that Rachel got off on it a little bit. Sam dutifully slipped in between Finn and Rachel, casually leaning a lean hip against the arm of the couch and smiling at Quinn, who looked up at him gratefully.

Clicking her tongue at the whole exchange, Santana reached for a couple of the bottles she'd brought out in anticipation of this little argument. "Look," she presented two vitamin waters to the couple on the couch, "you two goody-goodies can take non-alcoholic drinks."

Rachel smiled up at her and took the offered bottle. "See, that's reasonable." She turned to Quinn with those big, hopeful, brown eyes. "I've never had a chance to play this game before."

"That's kind of pathetic, Berry," Puck snorted, dropping onto a stool across from them.

"Hey, be nice," Quinn warned him, reluctantly reaching for the other water, and Santana knew that she'd just caved.

The rest of the kids settled into chairs or onto the floor around the table as Brittany passed out bottles—fresh beers for all the boys except for Kurt, who was a designated driver and took a water, and wine coolers for Tina and Mercedes. Brittany grabbed the bottle of Jack and poured out two shots, keeping one for herself and leaving the other and the bottle on the table. "Oh…we can start with that," she squealed, plopping down into the empty lounge chair. "Rachel says never have I ever played Never Have I Ever, and we all get to drink….well, except Rachel," she pointed out, catching Santana's hand and tugging her down into her lap before taking her drink.

Everyone else (except Rachel) took the drink too, and Santana smirked, leaning forward to pick up the other shot glass and the bottle. She downed her own shot and refilled both her and Brittany's as she snuggled into her girlfriend's body.

"I'm next," she said, stealing the next turn and grinning evilly at Quinn. "Never have I ever," she paused dramatically, making Quinn go a little pale.  _Damn, this was gonna be so much fun. "_ Been in Berry's bedroom," she finished wickedly. She watched as Rachel happily took her drink (of water, big fucking deal) along with Kurt, Quinn, Finn and Puck. Hudson shot a quick, pained look in Puck's direction, and then glared at Quinn, and she glared right back at him.

"Ooo, I've got one. Never have I ever taken Finn's virginity."

Santana frowned down at her girlfriend. "Thanks a lot, Britt," she grumbled, taking her shot.

Continuing counterclockwise around the table, Kurt was next, and he fiddled with his bottle a minute while he pondered ideas. Then he smiled winningly, and announced, "Never have I ever thought that I was straight," and everybody except Blaine and Brittany took a drink.

"Uh, B?" she nudged the girl.

"What? I've totally  _always_  known I was pansexual," she announced.

"You know what pansexual means?" Mercedes asked, voicing the surprise that was reflected on nearly everyone else's face, and Santana silently bristled at the dig to Brittany's intelligence.

_Oh, I'm'a cut a bitch._

Mercedes noticed her pissed-off expression and kind of shrank down into the couch.

_That's right. You better cower._

Brittany didn't seemed phased, she just smiled and nodded. "Rachel told me."

"Was that a nice way of calling her a…?"

"Don't you fucking say it, Puckerman!" Santana shouted, ready to get up and punch him, but Brit's arm around her waist stopped her.

"It's okay, San," she whispered into her ear, and Santana relaxed against her, but didn't stop glaring at the man-whoring asshole, even when Blaine nervously cleared his throat and took his turn.

"Um…never have I ever kissed a girl." Mercedes and Tina were the only ones who didn't raise their bottles or glasses.

Blaine did a double take and stared at Kurt. "Wait. You've kissed a girl?" he asked incredulously.

"Brittany," he shrugged. "It was a brief little rebellious stage."

Brittany leaned forward. "Kurt has nice, soft lips, doesn't he?"

Crimson patches colored both boys' cheeks, and Blaine ducked his head and nodded. "Yeah." Kurt grinned and slid his hand into Blaine's.

Puck faked a gag at the display of affection. "Never have I ever kissed a dude." All the girls, along with Kurt and Blaine, took a drink.

Mike glanced around the circle, eyes finally settling on Puck. "Ah…never have I ever been arrested," and his voice went up at the end, almost like he was asking for permission or something. Puck sneered at him but dutifully took his drink.

"Never have I ever been slushied twice in one day," Tina said proudly.

Rachel sighed and took a drink of her water, and she was the only one who had to. Quinn pulled her close and murmured, "Sorry, baby."

"You've more than made it up to me, sweetheart," she murmured lowly, but Santana caught the words and the look that passed between the two, and she grinned in triumph. They were so totally doing it.

"Never have I ever been to New York City. I'm so psyched guys," Artie enthused with a fist pump, and everybody cheered and hollered.

Rachel lifted her bottle of water in a mock toast and uttered a joyful, "here, here," before taking a sip. Everybody knew the two dads Berry had taken their little diva on a few trips to the Big Apple to see the occasional Broadway show. Not that Santana was jealous or anything.

_Yeah, I am…so fuckin' jealous._

"Never have I ever gotten to sing a solo at a competition," Mercedes complained.

Rachel, Finn, Quinn, Sam and Santana took their drinks, and when Rachel lowered her bottle, she offered the other diva a sheepish smile. "Sorry, Mercedes. Perhaps at Nationals," then that cocky Berry attitude kicked in, "if you can best me."

"You're so on, girlfriend."

"My girlfriend," Quinn said with a grin, planting a quick peck on Rachel's cheek. Then she smirked at Santana. "Never have I ever had a boob job."

"Bite me, Blondie," she growled, slamming down her shot.

Since technically, Rachel's suggestion had actually been used first, she thoughtfully passed her turn to Sam.

His brows furrowed in concentration as he looked around the room, and then he smiled and glanced down at the girl next him. "Never have I ever kissed Rachel." Finn, Puck, Quinn and Brittany took their drinks, and when Finn noticed Brittany taking her shot, he nearly choked on his beer.

His eyes flew back to Rachel. "When did you kiss Brittany?" he squeaked.

"None of your business, Hudson," Quinn told him.

"It was after we broke up, Finn," Rachel reassured him.

Frankly, Santana was kind of surprised he didn't already know about that since everyone else did—especially when he and Artie had been commiserating over getting their asses dumped last month. She supposed Wheels hadn't mentioned  _that_  part of the story.

Finn was looking all pissy now. "Never have I ever stolen someone's girlfriend," he spat at Quinn, who just sat there glaring at him.

Puck groaned and took a drink, and so did Mike. Santana sighed and threw another shot back, feeling herself get fuzzier. Why had she thought this was a good idea again? She watched Rachel take a drink, and Quinn's eyebrow go up. "Rach?"

Rachel shrugged. "Well, you were sort of still dating Sam when I wooed you away," she confessed.

Finn pointed over at Quinn with the neck of his beer bottle. "Why didn't  _you_  take a drink, Quinn?"

"Because she  _wasn't_ your girlfriend when we," she trailed off, then huffed and shook her head. "Oh, you know what—forget it." She made a show of raising her bottle and taking a nice, big drink.

Rachel bit her lip and glanced between the two. Sighing, she turned to Quinn and smiled, obviously trying to diffuse her girlfriend's temper. "Never have I ever been happier," she murmured, and there were a few oohs and ahs, and yeah, a couple of eye-rolls. Quinn's face softened and she kissed Rachel.

And that's when Finn took a good, long pull on his beer.

Well, since nobody had the balls to ask the right question, it was up to Santana. "My turn again," she announced gleefully. "Never have I ever…had sex with Rachel Berry."

Quinn stiffened, and Rachel blushed. "Bitch," she barked out, but she raised her bottle and took a very deliberate drink.

Everybody in the room kind of froze except for Santana. She lurched forward and pointed at the couple. "Ha! I knew it!" she shouted.

Rachel blindly reached up and grabbed the beer bottle out of Sam's hand, bringing it to her mouth and tipping it back to take a swallow. Quinn frowned and jerked her girlfriend's wrist down.

Brittany squealed and all but tossed Santana off her lap and onto the floor, jumping over at the couch and wrapping up Rachel and Quinn in a hug. "Yay for you! Was it totally hot? It was, wasn't it?"

"No way," Mercedes finally muttered, shifting as far away from the other three girls on the couch as she possibly could.

"Fuck, that's like the ultimate score," Puck breathed out in awe.

"Which one?" Kurt asked.

His mouth turned up into a big, dazed grin. "Both."

"You had sex?" Finn finally managed incredulously.

"Yes, Finn," Rachel answered evenly, shifting closer to Quinn when Brittany let them go and squeezed into the tiny space between Rachel and the arm of the couch.

Finn stood up and slammed his bottle down on the coffee table, and Santana hissed, immediately picking it up and checking underneath for damage, sighing in relief when she saw none.

_Gracias a Dios._

"But you said you were waiting until you were twenty-five," Finn accused.

"Buy a clue, Quick Draw," Santana growled, standing up to poke him in the chest. He was fucking lucky he hadn't nicked that table. "She just wasn't that into you."

He stepped around her and closer to the couch, but Sam stood and put a hand on his shoulder. Finn shrugged him off, and shook his head sadly. "We were together for  _months_ ," he reminded Rachel. "You've been with her like…way less than that."

"I'm in love with her, Finn," Rachel told him without hesitation, and Santana watched Quinn's face light up like a fucking Christmas tree. "It just felt," she glanced over at her girlfriend and smiled, "right."

"Oh, yeah, babe. Tell us just how  _right_  it felt," Puck encouraged with a leer.

The girls shot daggers at him, but it was Mercedes who snapped, "pig," and then nodded at Kurt, who reached over and whacked Puck's head on her behalf.

"Ow," he grumbled, rubbing above his ear and glaring at Kurt. "Damn it, Hummel," but Kurt just held up a hand and pointed over at the couch and the four girls scowling in his direction, and Puck immediately backed down.

"This sucks," Finn complained, pacing back to his chair and dragging it about ten feet away before he sat back down, facing away from the couch with his head down and his arms crossed.

"Oh, c'mon, man. They love each other," Sam told him. "Get over it."

"I'm sorry, Finn, but we're not together anymore," Rachel gently reminded him. "You really have no right to feel betrayed." She slid her hand over Quinn's knee and rested it there intimately.

"Whatever," he mumbled, getting up from the chair and announcing, "I'm gonna get some air," before he sulked over to the door.

Sam sighed, "I'll just go…make sure he doesn't, like, tear your mom's garden apart or something."

Santana frowned, then gave Sam a hard shove to urge him out. "Get going, then. Tell him he better not touch her fucking Azaleas."

Mercedes started to crack up on the couch. "Yeah, Santana, you're so gangsta. Lima Heights Adjacent, please..."

"Shut up, bitch," she spat, and Brittany jumped up off the couch and hugged her.

"You're totally badass."

"Damn right, I am," she agreed.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Are you happy now, Santana? Did you have your fun for the night?"

 _Yeah, not even gonna try to resist that one._ "Nah, not yet, but you and Berry obviously did."

Quinn's cheeks tinged pink and she ducked her head, but Rachel huffed and met Santana's eyes in challenge. "Why, yes, thank you, Santana. We certainly did. And may I say, your parents' bed is nearly as comfortable as Quinn's."

Quinn's head shot up, and she hissed, "Rachel."

"So. Fucking. Hot," Puck choked out while everyone else just stared at them in shock.

Santana blanched, frantically recounting the night and trying to remember if they'd ever been out of her sight for any length of time. She could only think of maybe ten, fifteen minutes tops. She smiled and called their bluff. "Nice try, half-pint. You're not that good."

Quinn started to laugh, silent shoulder shaking-laughter that gradually grew more vocal, while Rachel just sat there looking smug. Quinn wrapped her arms around her girlfriend. "Oh, baby, you really are that good," she reassured, cupping Rachel's cheek and pulling her into a not-at-all-innocent kiss.

"This is really disturbing," Kurt muttered.

Puck slapped him across the arm. "Quiet man, you'll ruin it."

"Word," Artie agreed quietly.

"Okay, okay, we get it," Santana growled. "You're all up on that. Now chill the fuck out before I dump a bucket of ice over the both of you," and the two broke away from one another smiling. "You were just messing with me about the bedroom, right, Berry?" she wanted to clarify.

Rachel shrugged, "Maybe."

"Hey, Rach," Quinn began conversationally. "Did I ever tell you how many times Santana and Brittany disappeared during sleepovers when we were younger?" She turned her sharp eyes on Santana "Most likely to defile parts of my house."

Santana swallowed heavily, remembering just how many times she and Brit had snuck off when Quinn wasn't paying attention, and she was suddenly worried that those two actually did have the nerve to…

_Shit._

"Uh…yeah…I'll be right back," she muttered and made a beeline for the stairs, hearing a room full of laughter follow her all the way up.


	33. Better

**Better**

A little over an hour after Santana Lopez had frantically inspected the upstairs bedrooms of her parents' house for any signs of corruption, the party had quieted down considerably. Finn left shortly after Santana had come back downstairs and cursed them all out in Spanish for being disrespectful slackers, and he'd taken Artie and Puck with him. Puckerman had made noises about trolling for hotties (or at least an extra large hunk of lasagna to sop up the alcohol in his system) at Breadstix since he wasn't going to get lucky with any of the girls at the party. Finn had only had a couple of drinks, and he'd sworn that he was okay to drive, so Kurt had let him go with a promise to text when he was safely home—that message had come fifteen minutes ago. Mike and Tina had taken off a just few minutes after that, leaving only what Santana had affectionately dubbed as the Rainbow mafia and their designated fag hag and lesbro, Mercedes and Sam.

The music was playing softly now, and the eight of them were all just lounging around on the furniture engaging in idle conversation as three of them attempted to sober up a bit before going home to face their parents. Brittany was staying the night with Santana, parent free, so neither of them really cared that they were still pleasantly buzzed.

A perfectly sober Rachel was snuggled into Quinn's side on the couch with her head resting on her girlfriend's shoulder and the fingers of her right hand tracing lazy patterns over the inside of Quinn's knee. Quinn had her arm wrapped around Rachel's waist and was currently breathing in the scent of her hair—ripe with the fragrance of Quinn's shampoo from their shower earlier. She got an odd sort of thrill from the sheer intimacy of having Rachel share her personal products and just thinking about all of the other things they'd shared made her feel a little giddy.

_And a lot horny. God, I'm getting as bad as Santana, thinking about sex all the time._

Her eyes cut over to the girl, who was currently curled up with Brittany on the chair adjacent to them, and she grinned as she remembered how ridiculous Santana had looked leaping up the stairs two at a time to police the bedrooms. Quinn and Rachel had totally played her. They hadn't actually snuck off for a quickie upstairs, although there may have been a little  _something, something_ in the downstairs bathroom. Quinn would never defile the Lopez's bedroom like that. She actually  _liked_  Santana's mother, scary though the woman could be—kind of like her daughter. As for Santana's bedroom—yeah, no way would she ever get near  _those_  sheets.

_Oh, I guess I still have to wash mine. And Rachel's panties._

She bit her lip at the thought, stifling a moan and shifting next to Rachel. Quinn's dress wasn't the only thing that her girlfriend had needed to borrow before the party. Noticing her sudden twitchiness, Rachel lifted her head and tore her attention away from the conversation going on around them to give Quinn a questioning look, but she just shook her head and smiled reassuringly. She didn't want Rachel think she was turning into a sex fiend, even though she probably was—because her first time with a girl? Phenomenally better than her actual first time. She finally understood what the big deal about sex was, and she really, _really_ wanted to experience it again. With Rachel. Soon.

One thing was certain, Quinn was never,  _ever_  going to make fun of Rachel's need to research every little detail again. Okay, not true. She probably would, but it would totally always be just in good fun, because her girlfriend had mad skills with the whole applied knowledge thing—it kind of made Quinn a little nervous of what Rachel might be able to accomplish if she ever decided to actually employ those Machiavellian principles that she'd been studying.

Quinn forced herself to tune back into the chatter going on around her, and focused on Sam's voice. "So, Blaine, man, do you guys have any plans for next year? I mean, you're gonna have to really step up your game if you want to beat us," he playfully jibed, wearing a cocky grin.

Blaine shrugged. "We've got another year to think about it. I really wish I was going to New York though," he admitted with a sad glance at Kurt.

Quinn felt Rachel snap to attention at her side. "I think you should strongly consider transferring to McKinley, Blaine," Rachel urged, her dark eyes twinkling in that dangerous way they tended to every time she had one of her (crazy) ideas, and her body practically started to vibrate with energy. "You have a _wonderful_  voice, and you're obviously very attractive." Quinn's brows furrowed as she looked at Rachel.  _Say what now?_ "You'd compliment me beautifully," Rachel continued, "and with  _you_  as my leading man," she ignored the eye-rolls from Kurt and Mercedes, "New Directions would be  _certain_  to win Nationals," she finished excitedly.

Quinn frowned, not liking that besotted look that Rachel was suddenly sporting or the undisguised interest that was spreading over Blaine's face. "Do you really think so?" he asked, clearly delighted by all of Rachel's flattery.

"Indubitably," she asserted with a nod and a smile, "and the best part, Quinn wouldn't have any reason to be jealous when we sing together because you will have absolutely no romantic interest in me," she finished proudly, reaching over to squeeze Blaine's knee.

Quinn scowled at the action, not even caring if he  _was_  gay. She was totally having flashbacks to Jesse St. Jackass and she was  _not_  going to silently sit around for the second time while watching Rachel have vocal intercourse with some other smug, little, solo-stealing prick.

Santana barked out a laugh and pointed at Blaine. "Don't you believe that for a minute, Stud. Quinn will glare daggers at you the minute you start making beautiful music with her little diva." She winked at Quinn, obviously having noticed the daggers already being mentally thrown into Blaine's back.

"No she won't," Rachel assured him.

"She totally will," Brittany argued.

Kurt leaned over and patted Blaine's other knee, mock whispering, "She does it to  _every_ one."

Quinn felt her face heat in embarrassment, but it wasn't like she could really argue the point. She knew that she tended to be a little (okay, a lot) possessive. Rachel knew it too, but she still made a gallant attempt to defend her girlfriend. She turned to Blaine with an encouraging smile. "It really only happens with Finn, due to our complicated history," she explained. Quinn snorted at  _that_  massive understatement.

"And Puck…same reason," Santana laughingly added.

"Oh, and Jesse," Kurt needlessly reminded all of them.

"Kurt, that one time," Brittany said, pointing at the boy, who raised his eyebrows thoughtfully before he nodded in agreement.

_What? I didn't glare at…okay, maybe a little bit._

Mercedes chuckled, shaking her head. "And poor Sam, when we were rehearsing for  _Rocky Horror,_ and the boy wasn't even  _singing_  with her."

"I thought she was glaring at Rachel, though," Sam revealed with a shrug, and Quinn dropped her eyes to the floor in shame, remembering the seething jealousy she'd felt watching Rachel sing  _Touch-a Touch-a Touch Me_ to a shirtless Sam. "I was actually kind of flattered at the time," he added.

 _God, I can't believe that I actually convinced myself that I was jealous over_ _**Sam** _ _? I was so freaking repressed._

Rachel huffed, sitting forward a little and crossing her arms. "They are completely exaggerating," she insisted.

Quinn sighed and admitted, "Well, mostly. They're right about Finn…and Puck."

"And everybody else," Santana persisted. "I'll totally prove it. C'mon, Shorty," she said, standing up and leaning over to grab one of Rachel's hands and pull her up and away from Quinn, much to Quinn's annoyance. "You and me are gonna get down and duet."

"What?" Quinn growled. She was not a fan of any idea that had her girlfriend doing  _anything_  with Santana.

Rachel's brows went up into her bangs. "Do it?"

Santana rolled her eyes and enunciated, "Du-et. You…me…and a karaoke machine."

"Hold up," Mercedes exclaimed, holding up a palm. " _You_  have a karaoke machine?"

She shot a dirty look at the girl. "Yeah, you got a comment to make, Aretha?"

Mercedes leaned back in her chair and snickered. "Nope. I think the machine speaks for itself."

Quinn laughed along with Kurt and Sam. Not knowing Santana, Blaine didn't seem to get the joke. Santana's whole image was just taking a hell of a beating tonight.

"What song did you have in mind?" Rachel asked curiously, and Quinn frowned at how intrigued she was by the prospect of singing with Santana. As for Santana, she was still a little peeved at them from earlier—not that she hadn't deserved a little payback for advertising Quinn and Rachel's private business to all of their friends—so there was no doubt that she was looking to annoy her captain as much as possible.

Was Quinn completely aware of this fact?  _Yes._

Would it stop her from getting jealous?  _No._

Santana grinned in triumph, both at Rachel's interest and Quinn's obvious displeasure. "Just for you, Berry…we're gonna get our Broadway on.  _Take Me or Leave Me_."

Quinn instantly started to pout when she saw Rachel's eyes sparkle with in delight. "You know  _Rent_?"

"Santana's got the soundtrack," Brittany answered on her behalf.

"I liked the movie, okay?" Santana defended heatedly, crossing her arms.

Brittany nodded. "She does. We watch it, like, once a month, and she has a whole box of musical soundtracks in her bedroom that she knows all the words to by heart."

"Brittany!" she snapped, flushed so red that it was actually noticeable even on her dark complexion.

"Oh, my God," Kurt squealed, bouncing in his seat, " _that's_  why you got  _Big Spender_ down on the first run through. Santana Lopez is a closet Broadway geek."

"I will hurt you, Hummel," she warned lowly, taking a single threatening step toward him.

Brittany stood up and wrapped her arms around the girl from behind, dropping her chin down onto a tense shoulder. "I love it when you sing, San. It makes me so hot," she husked.

Santana inhaled deeply and relaxed into her girlfriend for a moment before she spun around and kissed Brittany fast and deep. "Let's go, Berry," she ordered, heading for the home entertainment system on the wall and opening up the cabinet to search for the music.

Rachel bit her lip and grinned hopefully down at Quinn. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, sweetheart. The stage is calling."

Quinn sighed in defeat. She'd known the second that Santana said the word _Broadway_  that Rachel would never refuse. "Have fun, baby," she said sweetly, and her girlfriend's smile widened before she bent down and thanked Quinn with a kiss.

Santana loaded the CD, and came to stand next to Rachel across from the couch. Brittany sat back down next to Quinn in the space that Rachel had vacated, and Mercedes and Sam got up from where they'd been sitting and rearranged themselves so that they'd have a better view of the show.

Rachel smoothed a hand down over her dress and pulled up her confident performance persona, and Quinn sat back and admired the change with a smile. She loved watching her girlfriend put on her show face. "We should take a moment to discuss the arrangement and which of us will…"

"Nope," Santana cut her off with a smirk as she picked up the stereo remote. "First verse is mine. You can take the second."

Rachel frowned, crossing her arms and visibly gearing up for a debate, of which she got no further than, "But…"

"Berry, seriously.  _Think_  about it," Santana girl instructed.

Rachel sighed and nodded. "Fine. I concede your point."

"Good girl," Santana smiled sweetly—and on her, that smile was actually kind of frightening. "Just don't dance on the coffee table," she ordered as she cued up the song. As soon as the music started, the two shifted into character—not that Santana's behavior was very far outside of her normal personality. They circled around one another as they exchanged a few vocal runs to begin, and then Santana broke away and sang to the group.

_"Every single day,_   
_I walk down the street,_   
_I hear people say baby, so sweet."_

She ran her hands down over her body as she swayed her hips, causing Brittany to playfully fan herself.

_"Ever since puberty,_   
_everybody stares at me,_   
_boys girls, I can't help it, baby."_

She pointed at Sam and Brittany with a smile and wink before she turned back to Rachel and seductively trailed her fingers along the girl's bare shoulder and arm. Quinn had to grit her teeth and remind herself that it was just a performance, but even so, she was pretty sure that Santana had already proven her point. She  _would_  glare at anybody Rachel sang a duet with because  _she_ wanted to be the only one singing with her.

_"So be kind, and don't lose your mind,  
just remember that I'm your baby."_

Rachel picked up Santana's hands and dramatically threw them off her body as she stole the next phrase.

" _Take me for what I am,  
who I was meant to be."_

Santana grinned, clearly enjoying their little musical battle for dominance as she jumped back in.

_"And if you give a damn,_   
_take me baby_   
_or leave me."_

Quinn had to admit that their voices really did blend well together, and she decided to just relax and enjoy the show the two were putting on. She did love watching her girl perform, and she laughed along with everyone else when Rachel pushed Santana aside to claim the spotlight.

_"A tiger in a cage_   
_can never see the sun._   
_This diva needs her stage, baby, let's have fun."_

Rachel danced over beside Quinn and briefly dropped to her knees and proceeded to slide her palms dangerously high on Quinn's thighs, dipping under the hem of her dress and making sure to sing the next line directly to her.

_"You are the one I choose.  
Folks would kill to fill your shoes."_

She turned back to a bored looking Santana, who was standing with her arms crossed and tapping her foot.

_"You love the lime light, too, now baby."_

Rachel jumped up and made her way back to Santana as she continued singing.

" _So be mine and don't waste my time,  
cryin' oh honey bear are you still my, my, my baby?"_

The rest of the song was a back and forth between the two as they got into the lyrics, alternately working their audience and playing off one another. They were damn good, and everyone was clapping and dancing in their seats by the time they got to the final chorus.

_"Take me for what I am,_   
_who I was meant to be,_   
_and if you give a damn,_   
_take me baby or leave me."_

Quinn wasn't exactly smiling when Santana decided to reenact the scene by hiking her leg up along Rachel's hip and then shimmying down her body, dropping to her knees and pressing her face against the girl's stomach. She would have been up and out of her seat if Brittany wasn't holding her back, but Rachel played out her part too, shoving Santana off of her as they sang the last notes. She turned her back on Santana when they spoke the final two lines together.

" _Guess I'm leaving. I'm gone!"_

Brittany immediately let Quinn go, jumping up and bounding over to a grinning Santana to tackle her and drag the girl into a heated kiss. Quinn was standing too, pulling her own smiling and sweaty girlfriend into her arms as the boys clapped and Mercedes gushed, "Oh my God, you guys. That was  _so_ good."

"It really was," Quinn admitted after brushing a kiss over Rachel's lips.

"You should totally perform that for the rest of the club," Sam added. "Maybe Mr. Schue will even let you do it for Nationals."

Rachel shook her head and laughed humorlessly. "I somehow doubt he would be quite that forward thinking."

"I wouldn't want you to doing that particular song for Nationals anyway," Quinn informed her, and Rachel frowned up at her.

Kurt leaned over to Blaine, pointing up at the girls. "See, told you. Glare-y Quinn is scary Quinn," and Blaine nodded in agreement. Quinn looked down at them and showed them what a real Fabray glare looked like.

"You do realize that it was just a performance?" Rachel asked in amusement.

"But you always get  _way_  too into your performances, Rach, and so does Ms. Horndog over there," she nodded in the direction of Santana and Brittany, who were practically humping one another on the chair.

"Okay, time for us to go," Kurt announced in a rush when he noticed what was going on, quickly standing up and pulling Blaine with him.

Mercedes grimaced and nodded, "Yeah, I'm out, too. I don't need to see them actually get naked."

The three started toward the door, and Kurt paused. "Ah…Sam. Are you coming?"

He was staring transfixed at the kissing girls. "Not yet," he mumbled.

Quinn started to laugh, leaning away from Rachel just enough to smack him lightly on the arm. "Get going, perv." He shook his head and smiled sheepishly at her before turning to leave.

"Please tell me you two aren't hanging around for some weird foursome," Mercedes demanded

Quinn shuddered at the thought. "God, no! We're not staying." She took Rachel's hand and started for the door just as a loud moan sounded from the chair. Mercedes and the boys hightailed it outside without another look back, but Quinn paused, suddenly in the mood to be a little bit bitchy. She tugged Rachel with her as she detoured over to her friends and gave Santana's leg a nudge with the toe of her shoe. "We're all leaving now."

"Mmm."

"It was lovely singing with you, Santana," Rachel added with a giggle.

"Uh huh."

Quinn shook her head in amazement at the two. They didn't even stop or look up—just kept at it. They absolutely had no shame. Taking a breath, she glanced down at Rachel and felt her cheeks heat. Rachel tilted her head, silently asking what she was thinking. She shook her head and leaned down over the chair, whispering to Santana, "You may want to scrub down the marble counter in the bathroom."

The girl was sitting up in a flash, knocking Brittany backwards and dislodging the girl's hands from underneath her shirt. "You fucking didn't."

Rachel started to laugh next to her, squeezing her hand. "Why, Quinn, color me impressed. We may just get you more comfortable with talking about sex, after all," and Quinn's face heated a little more, but she smiled down at Rachel. She  _was_ starting to feel a little more confident.

"Maybe, with some more practice," she teased.

Santana glared testily up at Rachel. "You're just screwing with me again, right? You didn't actually have sex in my bathroom."

"San," Brittany whined, trying to get the girl's attention back onto her with her lips and her hands.

Rachel grinned. "I would  _never_ screw with you, Santana," she promised truthfully, "and since I can see that you have other…ah…urgent matters to attend, we'll just leave you to that. Good night and thank you for a lovely party."

Quinn smiled wickedly as she allowed Rachel to lead her out. "Yeah, what she said. G'night, Santana. Brittany," she called back over her shoulder.

"Wait! You didn't answer me!" Santana shouted, trying to get up and chase after them, but being impeded by her girlfriend on top of her. "Get back here."

Quinn shot a look at Rachel as they stepped outside, and when she nodded, they took off in a sprint to the car, jumping inside just as Santana came flying out her front door with Brittany in tow, trying to drag her back inside. Quinn turned the engine over and quickly pulled away from the cub, laughing joyfully for the entire drive to Rachel's house.

When she pulled into the driveway, the good mood that she'd been riding high on all day took a little dive. It was well after midnight, and Quinn was kind of terrified. They'd blown past Rachel's curfew by a good twenty minutes.

"Ah, Rach, m-maybe I should just head home tonight," Quinn rushed out. "I mean, it's really late and I don't want to wake up your dads."

"I want you to stay," Rachel said, turning those big, dark eyes on her and that sad, pouty expression, and Quinn knew that she was about to fold like a house of cards. "My dads already expect you to sleep over, and it  _is_  late, so you shouldn't be needlessly driving around Lima," Rachel continued reasonably. Quinn didn't point out that it was only, like, a ten minute drive. She just nodded and pulled her keys out of the ignition, following Rachel up the walk and trying to be as quiet as possible as they snuck inside the house.

This wasn't exactly how Quinn had wanted to end her first day with the Berrys as Rachel's official girlfriend. Bringing their daughter home late wasn't going to win her any points with the men, and she didn't even want to  _think_ about what might happen if they found out that they'd lied about being alone all afternoon and ended up engaging in that marathon sex that Rachel had mentioned earlier in the morning. Quinn was  _so_  going to get herself tossed out on her ass and probably banned from Rachel's house and life and never be allowed to come near her again.

Leroy might even get out the shotgun, and then Rachel would probably go back to Finn, or meet some other guy like Blaine (only not gay) who'd be her perfect musical match, or some hot, sexy girl like Santana with a sultry singing voice that never went sharp, and Rachel wasn't a virgin anymore, and God knew she wasn't shy about sex, so whoever she was with next would get to kiss her and touch her and see her naked and Quinn would have to personally slushy that person everyday for the rest of high school and…

_Oh my God, you're rambling. Stop it! You are totally overreacting._

"Good morning, girls," Leroy called out softly, clicking on the light at the top of the stairway. Quinn literally jumped, bracing one hand on the railing while the other reflexively tightened around Rachel's. "Because it  _is_  morning," he continued in a disarmingly mild tone, "seeing that it  _is_  after midnight."

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Berry," Quinn whispered, reverting to the more formal address. She  _was_  getting kicked out—she could just feel it.

Rachel glanced back at her with a frown before looking up at Leroy. "It's entirely my fault, daddy. We were all having so much fun at the party, talking and laughing, and then Santana requested that I sing a duet with her, and you know that I can simply never resist the chance to perform."

He studied the girls for a long minute—his eyes taking on a wary acceptance—and sighing tiredly, he shook his head. "Don't wake your dad up," he instructed, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms. "And don't forget to keep the door open."

"Yes, daddy," Rachel promised, tugging on Quinn's hand as she continued up the steps. When they crested the top, Leroy looked his daughter over.

"Pretty dress, Rae. I don't recall you leaving the house in that."

Quinn felt Rachel tense a little, but she smiled at her father like it was nothing. "Quinn let me borrow it for the party. Do you like it?"

The man nodded, humming in affirmation and glancing at Quinn. "That was nice of you, Quinn. How's your mother, by the way?"

Now it was Quinn's turn to tense (more than she already was) and attempt a completely natural smile. "Oh, she's good. She sends her regards."

_Not even a lie. I just didn't bother to mention that she'd done it this morning._

"Uh huh." He didn't look convinced, but Quinn forced herself to hold his gaze. Leroy finally looked away and shook his head again, bending to wrap his daughter in a quick hug and press a kiss to her head. "Night, baby girl. Night, Quinn," he added. "See you in the morning. Well, later in the morning, anyway," he finished with a chuckle.

"Good night, daddy."

"Good night, Mr.…"

"Quinn," he stopped her. "Drop the mister, okay?"

She nodded. "Good night, Leroy," and he gave her little half-smile and turned to disappear back into his room. Quinn took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

_Oh, God, he knows what we've been up to. He's going to kill me in my sleep._

Rachel pulled her inside her bedroom and closed the door, and Quinn sucked in a harsh breath, dropping her bag as she lunged for the knob. "Rachel. Door open!"

Rachel pressed a hand to the door to keep her from opening it again. "I don't think they'll mind if we close it for ten minutes while we change our clothes."

Quinn looked at her incredulously. "You really like to bend the rules to the breaking point, don't you? Your daddy  _just_ caught us sneaking in after your curfew and probably looking like we just spent half the day having sex!"

Rachel grinned proudly. "You actually said it and you didn't even stutter."

"Will you be serious?" she demanded with a raised brow. "Santana figured out what we were up to just by looking at us tonight. Do you really think your own father didn't see it too?"

Rachel sighed. "Daddy is far more open-minded about sex than dad."

"But  _he's_  the one with the  _shotgun_ ," Quinn hissed.

Rachel shrugged. "Well, yes, but you can't get me pregnant, so I think he's a little more accepting of the possibility than he had been with Finn. A complete double standard if you ask me, but there you have it."

Quinn stiffened and paced over to the bed, sinking down onto the mattress and dropping her head into her hands. She really wished her girlfriend hadn't just brought up that particular point. It suddenly hit her hard that she'd been in that very position last year at this time. She heard Rachel gasp, and felt the bed dip next to her.

"Oh, Quinn, I'm sorry. That was completely insensitive of me. I wasn't thinking."

Quinn sighed and lifted her head. "You shouldn't have to censor your words just because I screwed up my life," she muttered.

Rachel reached for her hand, shaking her head in denial. "You did  _not_ screw up your life, sweetheart. You made a mistake, but you're stronger for it."

"I don't feel very strong right now," Quinn admitted shakily.

"It's this Thursday, isn't it?" she asked gently.

Quinn closed her eyes and tipped her head back, nodding slightly. In five days, her daught— _Beth_ —would be a year old, and she felt like the worst person in the world because she was happily throwing herself into this new life and her new relationship with Rachel and not allowing herself to even think about the baby girl she'd given birth to. Competing at Regionals had forced a few memories to the forefront—how could it not when her water had broken right after their performance last year?—but she'd pushed them down by focusing on Rachel and confessing her love and the rush of winning. Thankfully, the competition had occurred a week earlier this year than last, so it didn't actually mark Beth's birthday. That day was still looming on the horizon.

It was too easy for Quinn to forget. Until it wasn't.

An offhanded comment about one of the side-benefits of lesbian sex shouldn't have been the thing to dredge up all of the memories and heartache that came with them. "I didn't even really think about it until just now," Quinn finally confessed, reaching up to wipe away an errant tear.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Rachel asked gently.

Quinn shook her head and sniffled. "No. I really don't. Not tonight. Or this morning…whatever." There would be more than enough time to talk about Beth and all of her latent guilt. She'd probably fall apart on Thursday and snap at everyone who got too close. Her mom would undoubtedly bring it up and there would be tears. And Puck…God, poor Puck. Quinn would be a mess before she even got to school, and she wouldn't want to deal with any of it, but she wouldn't really have a choice, because it  _had_ happened and people would remember.  _Quinn_ would remember, but she didn't want to do it tonight. She looked at Rachel and sighed tiredly, "I really just want to go to sleep right now."

Rachel looked like she wanted to push the point, but she stayed silent on the subject and nodded in understanding. She got up from the bed and grabbed Quinn's duffle bag from where it had dropped to the floor, holding it out to her. "You can have the bathroom first."

Quinn smiled gratefully. "Thanks."

She kicked off her shoes and shrugged out of her sweater before padding into the bathroom and shimmying out of her dress. She washed her face, and then stared at her own reflection in the mirror for a few minutes. She didn't really look all that different from the person she'd been last year, but at least she could finally meet her own eyes without shying away. She still had a multitude of issues to work through, and God only knew what would happen to her when (if) she decided to come out to her mother, but she could finally see the Quinn that she wanted to be coming into focus through the smoke and mirrors. She might still be a little broken, but she felt like she was on the mend.

Quinn pulled out a tank top and a her favorite comfy sleep pants and put them on before she brushed her teeth and then brushed out her hair. When she came out of the bathroom, she saw Rachel turning down her bed. The girl was already changed into a well-worn t-shirt and obscenely short sleep shorts. She stifled a groan, knowing that she'd have to keep her hands to herself tonight, since Rachel had reopened her bedroom door as instructed.

Rachel glanced back over her shoulder with a grin. "You look all fresh and comfortable."

"And kind of exhausted."

Rachel stepped over to her and ran her hands up Quinn's arms, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. "Go to bed, sweetheart."

Quinn nodded as her girlfriend released her and went to take her turn in the bathroom. Quinn fell onto the bed and sank into the mattress, breathing in Rachel's lingering scent as she felt the momentous events of the day start to catch up with her fast. She was only half-aware of the bed eventually dipping under Rachel's weight and the glow of the lamp clicking off as she let herself drift into a blissful, semi-conscious state for a few minutes, but something just didn't feel right. Her eyes popped open and she turned her head to the right. She could barely make out the shadow of Rachel's profile next to her.

"Rach," she whispered.

"Hmm?"

"Are you awake?" she asked stupidly.

"Obviously."

She sucked her lower lip between her teeth and debated whether or not to ask. In the end, her need won out over her better judgment. "Do you…do you think your fathers would mind if we…cuddled a little?"

"Possibly," was uttered after a moment of hesitation.

Quinn's heart fell and she felt her eyes start to sting a little. "Oh," she mumbled dejectedly.

"I'm teasing you, Quinn," Rachel assured her, turning on her side and shifting closer to nuzzle her face into Quinn's shoulder and drape an arm across her midriff. "I think a little cuddling is acceptable," and Quinn happily readjusted her position so that she could hold Rachel. "If past experiences are any indication, we tend to wake up tangled together anyway, so we might as well enjoy falling asleep like this," Rachel pointed out reasonably.

Quinn smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of Rachel's head. "Hey, Rach," she murmured.

"Yes, Quinn."

"Love you."

"Back atcha."

Quinn frowned at the flippant reply. "Rachel?"

She felt the girl smile against her shoulder. "I love you, too, Quinn."

"Better," she breathed out on a content sigh, letting sleep finally come to claim her and whisk her away into dreams filled with laughter and music and sweet whispers of love—confident that she'd wake up surrounded by the very same things.

And waking up to Rachel was  _so_  much better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Song:**   
>  _"Take Me or Leave Me," from Rent_


	34. Perfectly Happy

**Perfectly Happy**

It was a phone call that did it.

Another impromptu and completely unnecessary call to check on the progress of Quinn's preparation for their trip to New York—because in Rachel Berry's world, it was apparently mandatory to have your suitcase packed a full week before your departure. Quinn had thought it was kind of cute at first when Rachel had handed her an itinerary to optimize her packing experience on Friday afternoon. She'd even tolerated it fairly well on Saturday when—after Leroy and Hiram had driven to Columbus for the day to attend the gay film festival being held at the Drexel theater—Rachel had decided to spend a good chunk of their precious alone time organizing her own suitcase instead of making love to Quinn—a situation that Quinn had remedied with a little persistence and a lot of kissing. But after about the fifth phone call on Sunday, during which Rachel had simply  _had_  to remind her to pack a warm sweater or take an extra memory card for her camera, she'd gotten fed up, tossed her phone onto her bed, and let the rest of the calls go to voicemail.

In the almost three months that they'd been together, they'd yet to have any major arguments, which was kind of surprising considering their past history. They were both very stubborn and occasionally selfish, and Rachel tended to want to talk about every little thing while Quinn preferred to keep it all bottled up inside. Of course they had disagreements, but they were typically over insignificant things and burned out fairly quickly. Still, it wasn't unusual for one or both of them to take a timeout to cool down so that their little battles never escalated into full-blown warfare.

Their worst conflict to date had been on Beth's birthday. As expected, Quinn had been a bitch to everyone, and poor Rachel had gotten the worst of it because she'd wanted so badly to try and comfort her girlfriend, but Quinn had just shut down more with every attempt and eventually reverted to snapping at Rachel to just leave her alone—and, with teary eyes and quivering lip, Rachel had. It was the first time in weeks that they hadn't sat together at lunch or in American Lit class, which of course just made Quinn that much more emotional. She'd skipped cheerios' practice, claiming illness (not entirely untrue,) and had driven straight to Rachel's house after school, literally braking down in tears as she'd begged for forgiveness. Rachel had been crying too as she'd pulled Quinn inside, and they'd laid together on Rachel's bed for hours while Quinn had alternately sobbed and talked about her daughter, revealing all the thoughts and feelings that she'd kept buried for so long. After that, the silly little squabbles that they had from time to time just didn't seem all that important, and they'd gotten pretty good at walking away from them and coming back to each other ready and willing to compromise.

So, Quinn ignoring Rachel's calls for a little while wasn't really that big of a deal, but she'd still found herself unconsciously submitting to her girlfriend's wishes by browsing through her closet and deciding what clothes she wanted to take. When she'd realized that there were things that she really wanted still in the laundry pile, she'd padded downstairs to check on their status, and since her mom was washing a few loads, Quinn had ended up getting roped in to helping with the chores. Settling onto the couch to spread out and watch a little television while she neatly folded towels and socks and various other unmentionables, Quinn forgot all about her cell phone and the slightly obsessive girlfriend who was currently blowing it up.

She also forgot about her mother, who'd gone upstairs with an armful of dresses and shirts, half of which belonged to Quinn. When she finally finished folding and putting away the clean laundry, she didn't expect to find her mother in her bedroom, sitting on the edge her mattress and staring at her daughter's phone with a look of shock on her face.

Quinn's stomach dropped to her toes, and she clutched at her door frame. "Mom?"

Judy slowly raised her head to look at her daughter with a confused expression on her face. "I came in to hang up your clothes," she said by way of explanation, "and it was ringing." She held up the phone. "I just…picked it up to see who was calling..."

Quinn's heart began to race, knowing it had probably been Rachel yet again. She'd set the caller ID photo to one of them together with their bodies angled toward one another in a loose hug, heads close but looking into the camera with soft smiles. Rachel's right arm was stretched up across Quinn's torso, and Quinn's right arm was wrapped possessively around Rachel's shoulder. At first glance, it might pass as a friendly pose, but if anyone actually took a second to really look at the girls' faces and body language, they'd know it was far, far more.

Quinn had taken the picture herself one random afternoon when her girlfriend had been looking again at the old glee club photo on her mirror and complaining that Quinn needed a more flattering one of them together. She'd wrapped Rachel up in her arms and told her she didn't really need a picture when she had the real thing, but she'd still grabbed her phone and held it arms length to capture the moment. It had come out looking far more intimate that she'd intended, so it never actually made it to the mirror. The one tacked up there now was far less couple-y in appearance—bigger smiles and more personal space—but Quinn had immediately saved the first one to her phone.

Now her mother had seen it, and even if there was a miniscule chance that the woman might have missed the true relationship revealed by that picture, Quinn had gone and gotten sappy enough to set Colbie Caillat's  _You Got Me_ as Rachel's ring tone because it was the first song that Rachel had actually dedicated to her in glee.

Feeling on the verge of panic, Quinn growled, "You had no right!" and crossed the room with a quick, agitated stride to snatch the phone from her mother's hand. She glanced down to see that her mother had apparently been nosing through all of the other pictures of Rachel that were saved to her phone—some of which were not completely suitable for parental viewing—and her hand clenched around the device. "These are private," she choked out, swallowing down the tears that were threatening as she stared at the picture she'd snapped one Saturday morning two weeks ago of Rachel all sexy and tousled and still half-asleep in her bed.

Judy stood slowly, shaking her head. "I…I don't understand what this means," and Quinn's eyes snapped to her mother as she attempted to gauge her mood. The woman took a deep breath, obviously attempting to keep her composure. "Quinnie? You…you don't…you're not…why do you have pictures like that?"

Quinn squeezed her eyes closed. She couldn't bare to look at her mother—to see the disgust or disappointment in her eyes when she finally said it. Things had been going so well lately. Over the last two months, Rachel had been spending more and more time at the Fabray house, and Judy really seemed to like her. She'd even started adding vegan items to her shopping list just so she could have the appropriate foods on hand for when Rachel came over, but she had no idea that the polite Jewish girl that Quinn loved spending time with was actually the girl that Quinn was  _in love with_.

Everything was about to change…

Quinn didn't even bother trying to hold back her tears any longer, and they leaked out from beneath her eyelids and cut hot paths over her cheeks. Drawing in a shaky breath, she confessed, "Because she's my girlfriend."

"Well, of course, Rachel is your friend," her mother said timidly.

Quinn opened her eyes. She knew that look on her mom's face—had seen it before when the woman had been refusing to acknowledge her daughter's pregnancy and accepting all her lame excuses for her reoccurring queasiness and unexplainable weight gain—but Quinn wouldn't… _couldn't_ attempt to sweep Rachel under the rug. " _Girl_ friend, mom," she stressed. "She's my  _girlfriend_. I…I'm gay," she finished in a whisper.

"No," Judy denied, shaking her head sharply. "You…can't be. You've always liked boys. You're just confused, honey."

"I'm not," Quinn cried. "I'm  _really_ not. I'm finally clear on everything. And don't you dare blame Rachel or her dads for turning me gay because they didn't! This is who I am—who I've always been," she added brokenly, wrapping her arms around herself and staring at her mother through the blur of tears.

Judy stood unmoving before her, eyes raking over Quinn's face as though she'd never seen her before. "I see," she finally said. Her mother drew in a deep breath, mumbled "excuse me," and then calmly walked past Quinn and out of the room. A few seconds later, her mother's bedroom door closed with a soft thud.

Quinn stood trembling in the center of her bedroom for a moment before she broke down, sinking onto the floor and sobbing. She'd known this would happen! She'd known that all of her mother's pretty words meant  _nothing_. Angrily wiping at her tears, she tossed the phone on her bed, grabbed her duffel bag and hastily began to stuff it full of clothes. She couldn't stay here, and she wouldn't wait to be officially kicked out again.

_I can't do this again. I can't…Oh, God… My mother knows. She knows I'm a lesbian and she's disgusted. I need to leave._

_I need…_

_I need Rachel._

Shuddering out a ragged breath, Quinn zipped the bag and ran out of her room and down the stairs. She didn't even know what she'd packed, and she probably wasn't taking half of what she would need, but she'd have to worry about that later. She swiped her car keys from the hook as she flew out the front door, rubbing at her eyes. She barely managed to hold it together long enough to drive to the Berrys' house, and the second she slammed her car into park, she dropped her forehead onto the steering wheel and let her tears fall freely.

How could she have been so stupid? She should have never kept any physical evidence of her relationship with Rachel anywhere near the Fabray house—not the photos on her phone, or the play lists that Rachel had created on her iPod with the cute names like FaBerry Jams, or the bracelet with the dangling little gold star charm engraved with a tiny R, or the notebook full of detailed sketches of Rachel that was hidden under her mattress. She should have kept everything to do with Rachel Berry as far away from her mother as possible. Hidden it away like…

_A dirty little secret._

Quinn sobbed harder because she knew it was true. She'd turned Rachel into that—happy to pull her proud girlfriend into the closet with her to keep her mother from finding out about them. With Russell out of the picture and her older sister never really a part of it to begin with, Judy was all that Quinn had left. She'd need her mother's support if she ever wanted any chance at getting out of Lima. Even with the small college fund that her parents had started for her when she was a baby, she'd still need to win a scholarship and probably apply for financial aid to get into a good school out of state. Now all that would just be…gone. She'd have to worry about where to live and how to buy food and clothes, and there'd be no college in her future at all.

She'd be lucky to have  _any_ kind of future.

Quinn didn't know how long she sat there crying, but eventually a sharp rapping on the window penetrated her misery. She lifted her head to see her worried and teary-eyed girlfriend frantically pounding on the car window because all the doors were locked. Another choked sob tore out of her mouth as Quinn tugged at the door handle and threw herself out of the car and into Rachel's arms. Rachel staggered a bit under her weight, but wrapped her up into a hug and offered her strength.

"She knows, Rach. My mom knows," Quinn cried against her shoulder. "About me. About us."

"I know, sweetheart," she whispered, and Quinn stiffened in her arms and raised her head to look at Rachel in confusion. "She called about five minutes ago asking if you were here," she explained gently.

Quinn was a little surprised that her mother would call Rachel, and she worried that the woman might have said something hurtful to her girlfriend. "What…what did she say?"

"Why don't you come inside?" Rachel urged, and Quinn felt that last tiny bit of hope that her mother would actually accept her disappear. Nodding in defeat, she allowed herself to be led into the house.

Leroy and Hiram Berry were both right there in the living room to greet her, and the moment she stepped inside, Leroy was sweeping her into a comforting hug. Quinn felt a fresh wave of tears flood her eyes. "Hey, now. It's going to be okay, hon."

Quinn shook her head against his muscled chest. "No, it isn't. She hates me."

"Your mother doesn't hate you, Quinn," he insisted.

Hiram placed a encouraging hand on her back and began to rub little circles. "She was frantic with worry when she called here. She's on her way over right now."

Quinn sucked in a breath. "What?"

Leroy sighed and stepped back, "Look, I don't know exactly what happened between you and your mother, but she obviously wants to talk to you and I think you should at least hear what she has to say."

" _She's_  the one who walked out and couldn't even stand to look at me," Quinn angrily revealed. "She probably just wants to try and convince me that this is just a phase or…or that I just haven't met the right boy yet. She doesn't want to have to deal with the fact that her daughter's a dyke."

"Did she say that?" Rachel asked indignantly, eyes sparking with anger on Quinn's behalf.

Quinn swallowed thickly. "No," she admitted.

"What exactly  _did_  she say?" Leroy probed.

She shrugged, "Not much—just that she didn't believe I could really be gay, and then she went into her bedroom and shut the door." She blew out a ragged breath. "I…I left right after that."

Leroy and Hiram exchanged a look, and Rachel loosely slipped an arm around her waist. "Oh, Quinn," she murmured,

Hiram shook his head, "Honey, you really need to talk to your mother."

"And if it goes badly, you'll have a safe haven right here for as long as you need one," Leroy added.

"In the  _guest_  room," Hiram stressed, and Leroy rolled his eyes over his husband's head. He and Quinn had already come to an understanding. He  _knew_  she and Rachel were having sex, and he wouldn't try to stop them or call them out on their sneaking around as long as she made sure to never let Hiram find out about any of it.

"Thank you," she whispered. Rachel's dads had really been so good to her, and she didn't really deserve any of it.

Rachel reached up and brushed her hair back, then stroked her cheek, smiling up at her reassuringly. "No matter what happens, remember that you're not alone, sweetheart. You never will be again," Rachel promised, and Quinn hugged her close and just breathed her in.

She tensed when the doorbell rang and Leroy went to answer it. Rachel gave her one last little squeeze before gently slipping out of Quinn's arms, no doubt intending to keep a respectful distance in front of Judy Fabray. Quinn couldn't bare to lose the physical connection entirely, so she caught the girl's hand and held on tight as she listened to their parents exchange greetings from the entryway.

"Hello, Judy. Come on in."

"Thank you, Leroy. Hello, Hiram," she said when she entered the room, then took in the sight of her daughter standing there holding her girlfriend's hand, and she nodded, "Rachel."

"Hello, Mrs. Fabray," Rachel responded politely, but Quinn could hear the subtle frostiness in her tone. She could be just as protective as Quinn could be when the situation called for it, and it made Quinn feel safe—knowing that she had this girl and her fathers to support her if her mother ended up letting her down.

"Quinnie, honey. Can we…can we talk?"

"We'll just be down in the Oscar room if you need us," Leroy informed them, taking Hiram's hand. He smiled at Quinn, letting her know she could count on them, and then gave Judy a look loaded with friendly warning, and the woman nodded in understanding.

When Rachel didn't immediately follow, Hiram cleared his throat. "Rachel, sweetie, why don't we give them some privacy?"

She gazed up at Quinn. "Will you be okay?"

Part of her wanted to say  _no_  and beg Rachel to stay with her, but she also didn't want to put her in the middle of a situation that wasn't really about her. Yes, she was in love with the girl, but even if they broke up tomorrow— _and please, God, don't ever let that happen_ —it wouldn't change Quinn's sexuality in the least. She was still going to be gay and her mother needed to understand that.

"Yeah," she assured Rachel, giving her hand a squeeze. "Thanks." Rachel smiled a little and nodded before quietly slipping out of the room and leaving her alone with her mother.

Quinn nervously fiddled with the hem of her t-shirt and looked everywhere but into her mom's eyes. She heard Judy sigh. "Can we…sit?" Quinn nodded and sank onto the sofa. Her mother settled onto the cushion next to her, leaving a good foot between them. "Why did you run out like that?" she finally asked.

"I figured I'd save you the trouble of throwing me out," Quinn snapped, meeting her mother's confused gaze for the first time. She watched pain flash across the woman's face, and her mom instantly reached out and grabbed Quinn's hand, holding it between both of hers.

"Oh Quinnie, honey, no. I promised you that I would never do that and I meant it. You're my daughter and I love you. I just needed some time to…to process what you told me. But we…we can work through this," she insisted.

"You say that like it's a problem we can fix. I'm  _gay_ , Mom. That's not going to change."

Judy inhaled deeply, studying her daughter's hurt and angry face. "I…are you really sure?" she asked hesitantly. "You're still so young, and I know you've had some bad experiences with boys…"

Quinn jerked her hand away and scowled. "God, I knew it! You act like you're all cool with everything but that was all just bull, wasn't it?" she accused. Judy Fabray wanted the perfect, little  _straight_  daughter. The pregnancy was enough of an embarrassment, but at least she could write it off as a mistake and never really mention it again to any of her bridge club friends. Having her daughter be a lesbian wasn't something her mother could just gloss over and make go away.

Judy tensed beside her. "I'm sorry if I'm not handling this as well as you think I should be. You caught me off guard, Quinn," she explained earnestly. "I never noticed any signs when you were growing up that you might…feel that way about girls. I mean, you don't even like flannel," she added in exasperation.

Quinn couldn't stop her disbelieving laugh. Her mother was so clueless sometimes. "I like girls, mom," she reiterated. "I…I dated boys because that's what I was supposed to do, but it never made me happy."

Her mother nodded slowly, searching Quinn's eyes. "And…Rachel…makes you happy?" she asked, but it wasn't really posed as a question.

"Yes," she answered without a second of hesitation.

"Well, then…I…I suppose that's all that really matters," her mother said with a half-smile.

Quinn stared warily at her mother. "Really?"

Judy reached up and tucked a strand of her daughter's hair back behind her ear. "Oh, Quinnie, honey, I've never seen you smile as much as you have these last few months," she admitted honestly. "And if that's because of Rachel and…and being gay…then so be it. I can't say that I don't wish you had chosen a different path…"

"I didn't  _choose_  this, Mom," Quinn cut in. "It chose me."

Her mother sighed, "I…I know, and I won't ever ask you to…change who you are," she promised. "It might take me a little while to get used to the idea, but you're my baby and I only want you to be happy."

Quinn's breath caught as she studied her mother's open and honest expression, and she fell into her arms with a choked sob, hugging her tightly as her eyes began to water. "I love you, Mom," she rasped against the woman's shoulder, hardly believing that she wasn't going to lose her mother.

"I love you, too, baby," and she pressed a kiss to the top of her daughter's head. After a moment, she chuckled. "You know, Quinnie, I did always worry a little about your taste in boys, but you obviously do much better with the girls. That Rachel is a real catch."

Quinn started to laugh, and she sat back and wiped at her tears, nodding happily, "Yeah, she really is."

"And you…you love her?" her mother asked carefully.

"I really do," she confessed.

Her mother nodded. "Do we…need to talk about sex again? Because I think I'll need to get some pamphlets first."

Quinn blanched, "No! That's…we don't…it's really not necessary."

Judy studied her thoughtfully. "Well, then, I think you should ask Rachel and her fathers to come back in so we can discuss some rules for you two," and Quinn sighed, silently bidding adieu to all that lovely time alone with Rachel in her bedroom.

"Yes, mom."

She walked over toward the stairway to the basement, expecting to have to go down to fetch Rachel only to find her sitting on the top step smiling up at her through teary-eyes, and Hiram three steps behind her wearing the exact same expression. Leroy was standing at the bottom leaning against the wall, and he shook his head when saw her. "Sorry, Quinn. I tried to get them to stay down here, but you know what they're like."

Quinn chuckled, "So I take it you heard everything."

Rachel nodded, strangely quiet as she stood and climbed the last step, wrapping her arms around Quinn and pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. "I'm just so happy for you," she whispered.

Quinn grinned down at her girlfriend. "Yeah, me too." She finally felt…free. She didn't have to hide anymore, or brush off her mother's questions about boys that she wasn't interested in, or pretend that Rachel was just a friend. "Except now she wants to have the talk about open doors and curfews and sleepovers," she told Rachel sadly, turning for the living room.

Hiram walked up behind them with his own watery smile. "Well, Lee and I can certainly reassure her that we've already covered all of that, and you've both been very responsible," he crowed with pride as he walked past them.

Rachel flushed and Quinn's steps faltered, and Leroy chuckled and nudged her playfully. "Perfect little angels," he jibed. Quinn felt her face heat. This had the potential to get really embarrassing really quickly.

Judy smiled politely when they all reentered the room. "I wanted to thank you all again for being so considerate and for…well, for supporting Quinnie."

"It's been our pleasure, Judy. She really is a wonderful young woman," Leroy assured her.

"Can I get you anything?" Hiram asked, playing the dutiful host. "Coffee, tea, water?"

"No, thank you."

Leroy sat down on the chair and shifted into professor mode. "I realize that today has been somewhat traumatic for both you and Quinn, so we'll understand perfectly if you'd just like to take her home and finish sorting through things in private. You're both welcome to stay, of course, but if you're not quite ready to discuss all of this yet, there will certainly be time to do that in the future."

"I appreciate your concern, Leroy, but I think I'd like to say a few things now before I have too much time to think about them," she admitted. She smiled again at Quinn and nodded at Rachel, patting the cushion next to her. "Have a seat, Rachel."

Rachel glanced a little uncertainly at Quinn, who answered with a shrug. She wasn't quite sure what her mom wanted to say, but both girls sat down on the couch. "Mrs. Fabray," Rachel began.

"Judy, dear," she reminded the girl.

"Judy," Rachel amended meekly, and Quinn didn't think she'd ever seen her girlfriend look quite so nervous. "I…I realize that I'm not…who you would have chosen for your daughter, but I want you to know that…I love her very much and I will do everything in my power to ensure her happiness above all else," she promised, and Quinn felt her heart swell.

Judy smiled, "Well, that's very good to hear. And you're right, dear. You're certainly not what I expected, but I can see how happy you make my Quinnie, and I'm…grateful to you for that. That being said," she continued, "I don't know that I'm entirely ready to…see you…being… _affectionate_  just yet."

Quinn frowned, "Wait…what exactly does that mean?"

"Quinn," Rachel chided her. "It's perfectly reasonable that your mother should prefer us to remain discreet in her presence for the time being." She turned back to Judy with a kind smile. "Although, perhaps you should clarify what you deem as acceptable behavior, so we can be certain to adhere to it."

Judy's eyes widened, and she laughed. "Oh, I do like her, Quinnie," she gushed. "She's very direct."

"Try living with her," Leroy deadpanned.

"Daddy!"

Judy shook her head. "I don't mind you girls being…friendly…like you have been. I just think I'll need some time before I'm comfortable with…more."

Rachel nodded, "I'm agreeable to that."

"I'm not," Quinn grumbled under her breath.

If her mother heard her, she ignored the comment. "Also, I'm afraid I have to insist on curtailing your sleepovers unless I'm certain that Rachel's fathers are at home and chaperoning you. Or, of course, if I am. I know you'll probably still find opportunities to…explore your…ah…urges…" she stammered uncomfortably, and Leroy bit back a laugh.

"Oh, we have a strict open door policy here," Hiram assured the woman, "Lee and I have raised Rachel to understand the seriousness of physical intimacy, and the importance of waiting. The girls have proven very trustworthy so far."

Judy quirked an eyebrow and looked her daughter over. "Is that true, Quinnie?"

Quinn dropped her gaze to the floor. At least one of the pictures her mother had seen on her phone didn't exactly speak of a purely chaste relationship. "Ah…we…"

"Dad," Rachel sighed.

"No, they've been fine," Leroy asserted. "We've never once caught them in a compromising position," he said truthfully, "but now that you're aware of their relationship, Hiram and I will be more than happy to discuss appropriate curfews with you, Judy." He grinned wickedly at Quinn and Rachel, knowing that their sneaking around was going to become a lot more difficult now that Judy was aware of what they might be up to when they were alone.

Quinn sighed and sank back into the sofa. Beside her, Rachel did the same and gave her a sad smile, mouthing  _'love you.'_ She smiled at Rache and shrugged, whispering back, "Love you, too." It could be worse. At least she still had a home and a mother to try and sneak around on.

The Fabray women ended up staying for dinner, and Judy was slightly appalled when Hiram mentioned take-out. Unbelievably, she actually made herself at home and raided the men's refrigerator, pulling out ingredients to at least make a nice salad. She even found some leftover (take-out) chicken and threw it into the mix, keeping Rachel's salad separate, of course. Quinn got a warm, fuzzy feeling as she sat next to Rachel and listened to Judy and Leroy reminisce about high school and Hiram start telling stories about how he and Leroy had met in college. It felt more like a real family dinner than any Quinn had ever experienced with her mother and father.

Eventually, Quinn followed her mother home, and toted her duffel back into the house. When her mother caught sight of it, she pulled her daughter into another tearful hug. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry you ever had to feel like you aren't safe here."

"I'm sorry, too. I should have…stayed and talked to you," she admitted, pulling away. "I've been kind of…shutting you out for awhile now, I guess. I want to stop doing that."

Her mother smiled and nodded. "I'd really like that, Quinnie. I want us to be closer."

For the first time in years, Quinn actually felt like that was possible. She wasn't the only one who'd changed—her mother really had too, and it was time to start trusting her again.

"Thanks for…well, for trying to understand. And for being so good about…Rachel."

"I really do like her, Quinn," Judy said again. "She's got a good head on her shoulders and she's really going places. I suppose if you have to be a lesbian, you could have done a lot worse. I just thank God you didn't fall for that Lopez girl."

Quinn laughed, "Don't worry, mom. There's no chance of that  _ever_  happening."

 

•••

Quinn picked Rachel up for school bright and early Monday morning with a cheerful smile on her face. She leaned across the seat and gave her girlfriend a deep, lingering kiss the moment she got into the car. "G'morning, baby," she finally murmured against Rachel's lips.

"Not that I'm complaining," Rachel breathed, "but you seem to be in an exceptionally good mood this morning."

"Why shouldn't I be?" Quinn asked as she leaned back and eased the car into the street. "It's a beautiful morning, and I have a beautiful girlfriend." Rachel grinned broadly. "I'm out to my mom and she's actually being pretty great about it," she continued with a soft smile, "and we're going to New York on Friday and it's going to be awesome, despite the fact that we somehow got stuck rooming with Brittany and Santana," she added with a roll of her eyes, and Rachel giggled.

Truthfully, they were supposed to have been rooming with Tina, because Mr. Schuester had finally clued into the fact that four of the six girls in his glee club were in relationships with one another and had decided that the two couples couldn't be trusted to be alone in a room together—and also because McKinley was still cheap and wouldn't spring for more than four rooms for the students. While Tina hadn't had a problem rooming with Rachel and Quinn, Mercedes had said  _hell-to-the-no_ at being stuck with Santana and Brittany. Then poor Tina had begged Mercedes not to make her switch, and since splitting up the two couples wasn't really going to work for anyone, they'd gotten stuck together. Rachel suspected that she and Quinn would actually end up spending most of their time in Mercedes and Tina's room anyway, because Brittany and Santana probably wouldn't care if they had an audience. Still, she was very much looking forward to spending time alone with Quinn in her favorite city in the world.

"I love it when you're like this," Rachel told her happily.

"Like what?" Quinn asked laughingly.

She smiled and shrugged. "Just…happy. Free. I love seeing you smile."

Quinn blushed a little. "Well, that's good, because it's entirely your fault that I'm like this."

"And I will gladly accept the blame," Rachel confessed with a grin.

When they pulled into the parking lot, Quinn leaned over again and kissed her cheek and Rachel was a bit startled. They never engaged in any kind of intimate displays on school grounds other than the occasional casual touch. Quinn hopped out of the car and was around to the passenger side just as Rachel was standing. They started toward the main doors, and Quinn caught her hand. Rachel paused and looked over at her in bewilderment. "Quinn?" she asked softly.

"Hmm?"

Rachel opened her mouth to ask why Quinn was holding her hand, but it occurred to her that her girlfriend was probably just on such a high from finally coming out to Judy Fabray that she didn't fully realize what she was doing. She smiled and shook her head, dutifully slipping her hand out of Quinn's as they entered the school. Quinn's mood seemed to shift and she frowned slightly.

When they reached her locker, Quinn leaned up against the wall and watched Rachel spin her combination with a sulky look on her face. "Rach?" she finally said.

"Yes, Quinn," she answered distractedly, tugging out her chemistry book.

"Theoretically, if I were to ask you, would you come out with me?"

Rachel furrowed her brows and glanced briefly at Quinn. "Of course, I would. We've been out countless times already."

Quinn chuckled a little and shook her head. "No, baby,  _come out_ …to the school."

The chemistry book in Rachel's hand went crashing to the floor as she jerked around to face her girlfriend. Quinn squatted to retrieve the book and carefully placed it into the locker. Rachel's eyes darted around the hallway, trying to determine if anyone had heard Quinn's question.

"Your lack of a timely answer is not exactly stroking my ego here," Quinn muttered bitchily.

Rachel shook her head and cleared her throat, careful to keep her voice low. "Well, theoretically…I…I would love for everyone to know." She turned her attention back to her locker and sighed, "but realistically, I know that it can't happen, so my answer doesn't really have any meaning."

"You can be so adorably obtuse sometimes," Quinn teased, calling up a variation of Rachel's words from weeks ago. She gently took both of her hands and pulled her closer.

"Quinn! What are you doing?" Rachel whispered harshly, aware of the dozens of eyes turning in their direction.

Quinn licked her lips. "I'm tired of hiding, Rachel. Everybody who really matters already knows, and I don't really care what anyone else thinks."

Rachel's heart began to race, and her first instinct was to throw herself into Quinn's arms and kiss her senseless, but then her mind began to play images of Quinn covered in purple slush and being kicked off the cheerios again, and she tugged her hands away instead, taking a step back.

"No, we can't," she said sadly, cutting a sharp look to two boys gawking at them from a few lockers down.

"I thought…I thought you'd be happy," Quinn whispered brokenly.

Rachel gazed back her with sorrowful eyes. "Quinn, have you really thought about this?" she demanded. "You'll lose your reputation. You'll get slushied and be called horrible names and…and be pushed around and belittled and I know how much you hated that last year. I don't want you have to go through any of that again."

Quinn sighed and stepped closer. "I'm not worried about it, Rach. If taking a few slushie showers means I get to kiss you and hold your hand whenever I want, then it's worth it," she said, reaching up and brushing her fingers through Rachel's hair. "My whole reputation was based on a lie anyway, and I don't want to be that person anymore." She shrugged, "Besides, we have less than a month before summer vacation," she pointed out with a half-smile.

"All the more reason to wait," Rachel attempted to persuade her, gently taking Quinn's her wrist and pulling her hand down to a less intimate location. Quinn's smile immediately transformed into frown and her eyes shimmered with hurt.

Rachel hated putting that look on Quinn's face, but she knew what would happen if they came out—and Quinn had to know it too. Her status would drop instantly and even if she managed to keep her position as head cheerleader—a very big  _if_ —she wouldn't be able to keep her immunity from the bullying and humiliation that the jocks perpetrated against anyone who dared to be different. She just didn't want Quinn to make any hasty decisions only to regret them later.

"You're supposed to be the one who doesn't care what other people think," Quinn accused, crossing her arms.

"I  _don't_ ," Rachel insisted. "I just," she paused, feeling a prickling on the back of her neck. She turned around and glared at the two boys who had shifted closer to eavesdrop on them. "Do you mind?" she growled, and they straightened from the lockers and scrambled away. Turning back to Quinn, Rachel lowered her voice again. "I love you too much to ask you to give up everything when you really don't have to, Quinn. I'm perfectly happy with the way things are right now."

A skeptical eyebrow went up. "Really?  _Perfectly_  happy?"

Rachel sighed. "Well, close to perfect, at any rate, but I'd rather not argue semantics."

Quinn shook her head in frustration. "I'd rather not argue at all. In fact, I'd rather just do this," she announced as she uncrossed her arms and put her hands on Rachel's hips, tugging her body close even as her mouth descended.

Rachel tensed against her, arms stiff at her sides while her heart pounded erratically. Quinn was kissing her. In public. In the hallway before class for anyone to see. She was kissing the head cheerleader in the middle of the school and…

_Oh, my God, we just came out!_

She was half-expecting a slushy to be thrown at them any minute now, but that didn't seem to stop her arms from slipping around Quinn's waist or her lips from parting and allowing Quinn to claim her. Butterflies were dancing in her stomach like they always did and her knees felt weak.

"Ay Dios, get a room you two," Santana called out snarkily as she walked past, pinky hooked with Brittany's, effectively cooling them off faster than any slushie ever could.

Quinn pulled back with a nervous laugh, and Rachel released a shaky breath as reality came back into sharp focus. "Oh my God," she gasped. "You just…you just…"

"Kissed you," Quinn finished calmly.

Rachel's eyes fluttered closed and she inhaled deeply as she attempted to compose herself. She could hear the whispers growing louder around them. Finally opening her eyes, she looked up at Quinn's slightly cocky smirk. "I hope you're really ready for this, Quinn, because there's no turning back now."

Quinn's smile widened, and her arms tightened around Rachel's waist. "Rach, baby, there was no turning back from the minute you spun that bottle."

It was true—that one timely spin had altered the course of both their lives and Rachel wouldn't change it for anything. Falling in love with Quinn Fabray hadn't been part of any plan she'd ever formulated, and she didn't have clue what the future had in store for them as a couple, but for the moment she was content to just enjoy the journey.

"No regrets," she said, as much a promise to Quinn as it was a question, and in reply, Quinn kissed her again—just a brief brushing of lips, but it spoke volumes.

Around them, the student body of McKinley was beginning their own game of telephone, picking insignificant words and passing them along in a distorted attempt to describe what they were seeing and what it could mean—placing bets on how long it would last—but Rachel and Quinn didn't listen. Their truth was already written.

This kiss was just the beginning.


End file.
